"  QUICK  AS  A  FLASH  THE  THOUGHT  RUSHED  ACROSS  HER  MIND  OF  PEOPLE 
ATTEMPTING  TO  ROB  THE  BANK." 


THE 


POMFRET  MYSTERY, 


A   NOVEL    OF    INCIDENT, 


ARTHUR   DUDLEY   VINTON. 


"3-  am  a  plain,  blunt  man— 3  onlg  speafc  rigbt  on." 


NEW  YORK : 

J.    S.    OGILVIE    &    COMPANY, 
31  ROSE  STREET. 


Copyright,  1886, 
By  J.  S.  OGILVEE  &  CO. 


DEDICA  TION. 


TO    THE 

f  tlxs  gitcravtj 

AND 

THOSE     OTHER     FRIENDS,     WHOSE     LITERARY    ADVICE     AND     CRITICISM 

HAVE   SO  MATERIALLY  AIDED  ME  IN    MY  ATTEMPTS  AT  AUTHOR 

SHIP,     THIS    BOOK     IS    GRATEFULLY   DEDICATED. 

ARTHUR  DUDLEY  VINTOX. 

NEW   YORK,    1886. 


2072892 


As  the  busy  bee,  which  sips 
Honey  from  each  flower, 
In  the  honeysuckle  dips, 
Tastes  the  clover  for  an  hour, 
Hides  among  the  roses'  lips, 
Hums  around  my  .lady's  bower — 
As  the  bee  sips,  so  I've  read 
Much  that  modern  writers  said; 
Many  thoughts,  of  authors  olden, 
fresh,  original  and  golden. 
Some  of  these  Time  did  efface, 
Some  my  memory  cannot  trace, 
But  full  many  yet  remain 
In  the  mazes  of  my  brain, 
And  from  thence  may  sometimes  flit 
As  original  with  it. 
Erring  memory  oft  has  told 
Things  as  novel  which  were  old. 


PREFACE. 

THE  POMFEET  MYSTEBY  is  only  what  it  pretends  to  be — 
a  Novel  of  Incident — in  which  the  reader  will  find  much 
that  interests  and  amuses. 

The  story  was  written  to  entertain,  and  instruction  was  a 
secondary  desideratum  ;  but  there  may  be  some  bits  of 
wisdom  on  these  pages  which  will  cause  the  reader  to  think 
that  the  story  is  well  worth  a  perusal. 

With  this  introduction  the  author  commits  the  book 
to  the  world,  trusting  that  it  will  meet  with  all  the  success 
which  he  wishes  for  it. 

ARTHUR  DUDLEY  VINTON. 

NEW  YORK,  JANUARY,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Chapter          I.— ARCHIBALD  MORROW,        ....  9 

"            II— A  BIT  OF  HISTORY,      ....  12 

"           III. — MORE  HISTORY, 22 

"            IV. — A  CHANGE  OP  IDENTITIES,    .  -      .        .  26 

"             V.— A  GAMBLER, 30 

"           VI.— POMFRET, 37 

"          VII.— AN  ASSIGNATION, 43 

"         VTII.— ARTHUR  VANCE, 49 

"           IX.— LALINE, 58 

"             X.— WHAT  ETHEL  SAW,       ....  80 

"           XI. — A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER,           ...  87 

XII.— BENNY'S  DREAM, 91 

"         XIII.— NEWS  OF  THE  ROBBERY,    ....  99 

"        XIV.— ANOTHER  LETTER,         ....  105 

"          XV.— ONE  MORE  LETTER,          .       .       .       .  117 

XVI.— A  CLUE 123 

XVII.— THE  TRIAL, 131 

"      XVIIL— ETHEL'S  ILLNESS,  .        .        .-      .        .  137 

"         XIX.— DETECTIVE  WORK, 145 

"          XX.— FOUND  AND  LOST,          ....  154 

"         XXI.— A  CONFESSION, 159 

"       XXII. —THE  RED  FARM  HOUSE,        .        ...  166 

"      XXIIL— DYING, 174 

"      XXIV.— HOME  AGAIN,    .       .               ...  180 

"       XXV.— RESTLESSNESS, 185 

"      XXVI.— AUNT  MARTHA'S  ROMANCE,    ...  189 

"     XXVII.— CHARLOTTE, 209 

"  XXVIIL— A  STRANGE  DISEASE,      ....  215 

"      XXIX.— SKEINS  UNTANGLED,           ....  225 

'•       XXX.— THE  END,  231 


CHAPTEE  I. 

ARCHIBALD    MORROW. 

THE  time  was  many  years  ago;  the  place  was  a  little  red 
farmhouse  on  the  slope  of  a  Kentucky  hillside. 

Farmer  Morrow,  his  wife  and  his  only  sou,  sat  in  the  low- 
studded  room  of  this  farmhouse  engaged  in  their  several 
vocations.  John  Morrow,  a  fine,  tall,  strong-limbed  man, 
sat  reading  the  Bible,  which  rested  on  the  table  beneath 
the  light  of  the  candles  which  burned  above  it  in  the  antique 
candlesticks.  As  he  bent  over  the  pages  the  massive  arms 
and  breadth  of  shoulder  which  he  displayed  betokened  a 
frame  of  more  than  ordinary  muscular  strength,  while  the 
streaks  of  gray  in  his  hair  and  beard,  betokened  that  age 
was  slowly  creeping  upon  him.  By  his  side  sat  his  wife,  a 
woman  younger  in  years  than  he,  whose  form  had  rounded 
out  as  the  years  of  her  womanhood  had  slipped  by,  but  from 
whose  face  Time  had  not  been  able  to  erase  all  the  traces  of 
girlish  beauty.  Her  deft  fingers  rapidly  plied  the  knitting 
needles  and  wove  the  colored  yarn  in  and  out  as  row  after 
row  of  stitches  were  clicked  away.  From  time  to  time  her 
loving  glances  rested  peacefully  on  husband  and  son,  and 
then  her  eyes  fell,  to  count  her  stitches  or  turn  a  corner. 

The  boy,  whose  age  might  have  been  some  fifteen  years, 
bent  over  a  drawing  book,  pencil  in  hand,  giving  the  finish,- 


10  THE    POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

ing  touches  to  some  sketch  which  he  had  made  the  day 
before,  while  ever  and  anon  his  left  hand  brushed  away  the 
long  locks  of  his  curly,  brown  hair,  which  fell  in  tangled 
masses  from  his  head  and  shaded  the  paper  from  the  candle- 
light. 

It  was  a  wild  night  outside.  The  wind  was  racing  down 
the  hillside  and  across  the  valley,  pausing  for  an  instant 
to  shriek  and  scream  at  the  old  farmhouse,  to  rattle  its  doors 
and  windows  and  to  bellow  down  the  huge-throated  old 
chimney.  But  the  chimney  had  had  many  a  previous  tussle 
with  the  wind,  and  now  it  stood  unmoved  with  its  wide 
mouth  gathering  in  all  the  sounds  of  the  night,  the  sough- 
ing of  the  trees  as  the  wind  rushed  through  their  sapless 
boughs,  the  rustling  of  the  dead  leaves  as  the  breeze  tossed 
them  about  or  drove  them  like  flocks  of  night  birds  before 
him. 

It  was  the  first  cold  night  of  early  winter,  and  a  bright 
fire  blazed  and  crackled  on  the  hearth  and  sent  up  thin  curls 
of  smoke  and  clouds  of  warm  air  and  jets  of  steam  from  the 
sappy  wood.  What  matter  if  the  night  was  inclement  out- 
side when  all  was  warm  and  bright  within  the  room  ? 

The  man — John  Morrow — spoke  first,  laying  down  his 
spectacles  between  the  pages  to  mark  the  place,  and  looking 
at  his  wife  and  son,  who  glanced  up  at  him  as  they  heard  his 
voice. 

"  How  the  wind  howls  ! "  he  said.  "  It  is  the  first  wintry 
night  that  we  have  had.  We  will  have  a  heavy  frost  before 
the  morning." 

"  I  hate  the  winter ! "  exclaimed  the  boy  impulsively, 
putting  down  his  pencil  and  brushing  back  his  wavy  locks 
of  hair.  "If  we  had  snow  and  ice  as  they  have  in  the 
North  it  would  not  be  so  bad,  for  then  we  could  coast  and 
skate.  But  here  we  have  nothing  but  rain  and  frozen  mud. 
I  hate  such  winters  as  we  have,  I  wish  I  was  away." 


ARCHIBALD   MOKROW.  11 

"  Archie  !  Archie  ! "  said  his  mother,  "you  will  never  be 
content  till  you  have  roamed  over  the  whole  world." 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  but  there  was  a  tone  of  sorrow 
in  her  voice — sorrow  such  as  a  mother  always  feels  when 
first  her  child  shows  a  longing  to  leave  her  side,  and  to  go 
out  into  the  great  world  away  from  her. 

Such  sorrow  comes  alike  to  the  lower  and  the  higher 
orders  of  creation.  Does  not  the  cow  low  when  her  calf 
runs  away  from  her?  Does  not  the  mother  bird  twitter 
anxiously  upon  the  branch  when  her  young  ones  have  flown 
too  far  away.  But  perhaps  to  man  this  sorrow  comes  more 
poignantly  than  to  those  other  animals  inferior  to  him. 

"  If  Archie  wishes  to  fly  the  nest  so  soon,"  his  father  said, 
"  his  wishes  are  likely  to  be  speedily  gratified." 
The  lad  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 
"  My  old  friend  Tom  Vance,"  continued  his  father — "  my 
old  friend  Tom  Vance  has  written  to  me  that  he  and  his 
son  are  going  abroad  and  would  like  you  to  go  with  them." 
Archie  leaped  impulsively  from  his  chair.    "  Oh  I  hope 
I  can  go  !  when  do  they  start  ?  Oh,  please,  please  let  me  go." 
"  Your  mother  and  I,"  his  father  said,  "  have  talked  the 
matter  over.     "We  are  loath  to  part  with  you,  but  it  is  a 
rare  chance.     Arthur  Vance  is  nearly  your  age,  he  will 
study  music  and  painting  abroad,  and  you  can  do  the  same; 
while  his  father  will  watch  over  you  both.     Would  you  like 
to  go?" 

"Like  to!"  ejaculated  the  boy.  "Like  to!  I  would 
give  worlds  to  !  You  will  let  me  go,  won't  you  ?  " 

"But  it  is  so  sudden,"  his  mother  said.  "It  is  only  a 
month,  and  that  seems  so  short  a  time  to  equip  you  to  go 
out  into  the  great  world." 

"A  month!  A  whole  month!"  Archie  answered  ex* 
citedly.  "  It  is  a  month  too  long.  I  wish  it  were  a  week 
— a  day — to-morrow  !  Just  think  of  my  studying  abroad  ! 


12  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

I  shall  come  home  a  great  artist  or  a  great  musician  and 
make  a  great  name  for  myself;  and  how  proud  you  will  be 
of  me  then  !  And  I  shall  make  money,  and  you  will  leave 
this  house  and  go  and  live  with  me  in  a  palace  — in  a  great 
house  in  one  of  the  big  cities.  Oh,  please  let  me  go  ! " 

"  There  is  no  use  of  our  keeping  you  in  suspense,  my  son," 
his  father  replied.  "We  have  decided  to  let  you  go  if 
nothing  intervenes  to  change  our  determination  between 
now  and  the  time  of  your  leaving. " 

When  Archie's  first  excitement  had  died  away,  he  begged 
his  father  to  tell  him  something  about  theVances. 

"  There  is  still  half  an  hour  before  bedtime,"  his  father 
answered;  "  I  will  tell  you  how  I  first  met  Tom  Vance.  To- 
morrow I  will  tell  you  something  about  his  later  history 
and  about  his  son." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   EARLY  HISTORY   OF  THOMAS  VANCE. 

FARMER  MORROW  drew  his  chair  round  to  the  hearth, 
while  Archie  cast  himself  down  upon  the  rug  by  his  father's 
side.  The  older  man  filled  his  pipe,  and  lighted  it  with  a 
coal  from  the  fire;  then  in  a  thoughtful  tone  of  voice,  as  if 
calling  up  the  memories  of  the  past,  he  spoke  as  follows: 

"  When  I  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age  I  had  some 
trouble  with  my  lungs  and  the  doctor  ordered  me  to  go 
South  to  escape  the  rigors  of  our  Northern  winter.  The 
Vances  were  cousins  of  my  mother,  not  very  near  relations, 
third  or  fourth  cousins  only  I  believe.  They  lived  upon  a 
fertile  plantation  not  far  from  the  city  of  New  Orleans  and 
within  sight  of  the  muddy  Mississippi. 

"  The  house  was  a  large  and  aristocratic  mansion,  which, 


HISTORY  01?  THOMAS  VAtfCE.  13 

in  spite  of  its  age — for  it  had  been  built  in  colonial  times — 
was  in  thorough  repair. 

"  Houses,  like  persons,  have  their  appearances  and  indi- 
vidualities. Some  show  clearly  that  their  inmates  are  poverty 
stricken;  others  tell  the  tale  of  present  wealth  and  comfort; 
and  others,  dilapidated  and  forsaken  though  they  be,  seem 
to  cry  aloud  from  open  window  and  broken  doorway,  '  We 
have  a  history.'  So  you  see,  my  boy,  it  was  no  misnomer  for 
me  to  apply  the  term  '  aristocratic '  to  the  house  in  question. 

"  This  plantation  belonged  at  that  time  to  Tom  Vance, 
for  his  father,  Laurence  Vance,  had  died  the  year  before  and 
left  Tom,  an  orphan,  in  the  care  of  his  Aunt  Matilda.  It 
was  her  invitation  to  become  an  inmate  of  this  old  mansion 
which  I  so  gladly  accepted.  And  when  I  reached  there 
and  became  one  of  the  guests  of  that  hospitable  household  I 
was  accorded  the  kindliest  welcome  as  one  of  the  family. 

"  Tom  was  about  my  own  age  then,  and  a  fine,  manly 
young  fellow.  I  took  a  liking  to  him  right  off,  and  I  think 
that  he  liked  me  too,  although  I  was  still  too  weak  from  my 
illness  to  join  in  all  his  sports. 

"  One  evening  when  all,  except  Aunt  Matilda  and  myself, 
had  gone  off  on  a  night  hunt,  I  begged  her  to  tell  me  some- 
thing of  Tom's  parents,  and  sitting  there  in  the  moonlight 
she  told  me  how  Tom's  mother  had  died  when  he  was  yet  a 
youth,  leaving  him  to  be  reared  by  her.  Then  passing  on 
through  the  intervening  years,  she  told  me  how  his  father 
had  died,  how  he  had  been  killed  in  Mexico. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  about  the  Mexican  war,  for  you  will 
find  that  in  your  books,  although  its  history  has  never  been 
properly  written.  Its  achievement  was  as  dashing  as  any  of 
Napoleon's  campaigns;  it  witnessed  individual  acts  of  hero- 
ism as  grand  as  any  the  earth  ever  knew,  and  it  had  the 
peculiarity  of  being  a  successful  war  waged  against  the  wishes 
of  the  President  and  his  cabinet. 


14  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  Well,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  what  Aunt  Matilda  told  me. 

"Laurie,  poor  Tom's  father,  was  my  brother,  as  you 
know,  she  said,  and  we  had  lived  upon  this  plantation 
with  our  grandparents  ever  since  we  were  five  years  old,  for 
we  were  orphans  at  that  early  age. 

"  Like  all  Southern  families  of  that  day  we  owned  slaves; 
but  my  grandfather  was  a  kind,  humane  man  and  would 
never  allow  the  whip  to  be  used  upon  his  place  nor  a  slave 
to  be  harshly  treated,  so  that  the  plantation  was  a  happy  one 
and  house-servants  seemed  like  members  of  the  family. 

"  I  was  just  sixteen  years  old  when  Laurie,  who  was  four 
years  older  than  I,  came  from  West  Point  on  a  furlough. 
He  had  grown  so  tall  and  handsome  that  I  was  very  proud 
of  him,  and  all  the  girls  in  the  neighborhood  were  just  wild 
about  him.  Now  at  that  time  a  pretty  mulatto  girl,  about 
my  own  age,  was  my  maid.  She  was  named  Felice,  and 
was  engaged  to  be  married  to  one  of  the  house-servants. 

"Years  before,  my  grandmother,  traveling  to  New 
Orleans,  had  taken  a  fancy  to  a  little  baby,  the  child  of  a 
slave  woman  going  to  New  Orleans  to  be  sold.  My  grand- 
father had  bought  them  both  for  her,  and  the  child  had  been 
christened  ( Sunbeam,'  partly  on  account  of  his  color,  for 
he  was  nearly  white,  and  partly  because  grandfather  had 
bought  him  on  a  boat  of  that  name.  As  he  grew  up  he  be- 
came a  house-servant,  and  his  engagement  to  Felice  was  ap- 
proved by  us  all.  He  would  have  been  a  happy  fellow  if 
Felice  had  not  tormented  him  by  flirting  with  her  other 
admirers. 

"  Laurie  had  been  home  about  a  month  when  I  was 
awakened  one  night  by  a  commotion  outside  in  the  shrub- 
bery. My  windows  were  open  and  as  I  sat  up  I  could  plainly 
hear  my  brother  swearing  and  a  woman  sobbing,  and  two  or 
three  other  voices.  I  rushed  to  the  window,  but  it  was  too 
dark  for  me  to  see  anything,  so  hastily  throwing  on  my 


HISTORY   OP  THOMAS  VAKCE.  15 

wrapper  I  went  to  my  Grandmother's  room.  She  was  up 
and  looking  very  pale  and  frightened,  and  we  stayed  there 
together  until  Grandfather  came  back  and  told  us  to  go  to 
bed. 

"  The  next  day  I  learned  what  had  happened;  how 
Laurie  had  come  across  Sunbeam  and  Felice  in  the  shrub- 
bery, and  how  Sunbeam  had  struck  him;  but  I  knew  nothing 
of  this  when  I  went  to  bed,  and  I  thought  of  all  sorts  of 
horrid  things  until  I  cried  myself  to  sleep. 

"  The  next  morning  a  sober  old  negro  woman,  my  grand- 
mother's maid,  came  in  answer  to  my  ring,  and  when  I  asked 
for  Felice  I  was  told  that  she  was  locked  up  and  was  to  be 
sent  away,  and  that  my  grandfather  would  not  let  me  see  her. 
Later  in  the  day  I  heard  it  whispered  among  the  servants 
that  Sunbeam  had  been  whipped  until  he  had  fainted.  It 
was  the  first  whipping  that  any  one  remembered  on  the 
plantation,  and  the  servants  went  about  with  a  subdued 
frightened  air.  Laurie  did  not  leave  his  room  for  several 
days,  and  when  he  did  there  were  marks  of  a  wound  upon 
his  forehead — he  carried  the  scar  of  it  with  him  to  his  grave. 

"  That  night  Sunbeam  and  Felice  disappeared.  As 
they  were  valuable  slaves  Grandfather  made  every  effort  to 
capture  them,  but  they  got  away  safely  and  never  were 
brought  back. 

"  After  a  while  Laurie  went  back  to  West  Point,  and 
graduating,  became  a  lieutenant,  and  in  a  little  time  the 
whole  thing  was  forgotten,  save  when  the  scar  upon  his  fore- 
head served  to  recall  it.  Then  Laurie  was  married  and  Tom 
was  born,  and  after  Grandfather's  death  Laurie  left  the  Army 
and  took  charge  of  this  plantation ;  but  when  Mexico  de- 
clared war  against  us  Laurie  was  one  of  the  first  to  volun- 
teer. 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  year  ago  since  we  received  letters  from 
Laurie  inclosed  in  others  from  a  brother  officer.  It  was 


16  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

from  these  letters  that  I  learned  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you 
— how  and  why  he  died. 

"  The  troops  of  which  Laurie's  command  formed  a  part 
were  camped  among  the  mountain  chains  that  guard  the 
approach  to  the  City  of  Mexico,  and  Laurie — a  Captain  then 
— was  with  his  troop  somewhat  in  advance  of  the  main  body, 
when  a  Mexican  was  brought  in  b/  the  guard,  desirous  of 
talking  to  the  commander. 

"  At  that  time  our  forces  had  suffered  greatly  from  the 
depredations  of  guerrilla  bands,  and  especially  from  one  led 
by  the  Chieftain  Jurillo.  They  were  not  part  of  the  regu- 
lar Mexican  force,  but  rather  roving  bands,  robbing  alike 
either  party,  killing  their  unknown  prisoners  and  holding 
the  rich  ones  to  ransom. 

"  This  Mexican,  Laurie  learned,  had  come  to  the  camp 
offering,  for  a  certain  sum  of  money,  to  guide  a  party  to  the 
lurking  place  of  Jurillo.  Laurie  knew  how  important  the 
capture  of  this  man  was,  and  so,  with  a(body  guard,  he  set 
out,  the  Mexican  guiding  him  and  agreeing  as  a  guarantee 
of  good  faith  that  he  should  not  receive  his  reward  until 
Jurillo  was  captured.  They  came  at  last  to  a  ruined  tower, 
and  here  the  guide  begged  Laurie  to  dismount  and  ascend 
with  him  to  the  summit,  from  whence,  he  said,  the  hiding 
place  of  Jurillo,  a  ruined  hacienda,  could  be  seen.  So,  while 
his  escort  halted  among  the  trees  outside,  Laurie  ascended 
with  his  guide.  Sure  enough  the  dilapidated  buildings 
could  be  seen  through  openings  in  the  trees;  but  while 
Laurie  was  examining  them  through  his  field  glass  he  was 
struck  a  violent  blow  upon  the  head  and  knocked  senseless. 

"  When  he  partially  recovered  his  senses  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  realize  where  he  was  or  what  had  hap- 
pened. He  was  lying  upon  the  ground  blindfolded,  with  a 
gag  in  his  mouth  and  with  his  arms  and  legs  securely  bound. 
At  last  he  heard  voices  approaching  and  he  was  lifted  up 


'HE  WAS  STRUCK  A  VIOLET  BLOW  ON  THE  HEAD."     Page  16. 


18  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

from  the  earth  and  placed  upon  the  back  of  a  mule,  and 
then  at  the  word  of  command  the  band  started  forward. 
At  first  two  of  his  captors  rode  by  his  side  lest  he  should  fall 
off,  for  his  arms  were  still  bound  though  his  legs  had  been 
unfastened,  but  finding  that  he  needed  no  assistance  they 
fell  to  the  rear  and  Laurie  could  hear  them  every  now  and 
then  conversing  in  low  tones.  He  thought  that  there  must 
be  twenty  or  more  in  the  band,  judging  from  the  hoof  beats 
that  he  heard  as  they  cautiously  but  rapidly  moved  on.  There 
was,  however,  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  exercise  patience 
and  resignation — words  easily  pronounced,  virtues  difficult 
of  practice. 

"  Laurie's  thoughts  grew  confused,  so  that  he  had  no  idea 
how  long  they  traveled.  His  head  still  ached  from  the 
blow  it  had  received,  and  finally  he  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground  had  his  guards  not  ridden  to  his  side  and  steadied 
him. 

"  At  length  the  band  stopped  and  Laurie  heard  the  wel- 
come sound  of  horsemen  dismounting,  and  a  few  minutes 
afterwards  he  was  lifted  down,  carried  away  and  brutally 
dropped  upon  the  ground.  Soon,  however,  he  was  again 
visited  and  placed  in  a  sitting  posture  against  a  post,  to 
which  he  was  bound  by  ropes.  The  gag  was  taken  from 
his  mouth,  the  bandage  from  his  eyes,  and  food  and  water 
were  given  to  him. 

"  He  saw  that  he  was  in  an  adobe  hut,  that  a  Mexican, 
with  a  short  carbine  across  his  knees,  sat  in  the  open  door- 
way, smoking  a  cigarette,  and  from  the  glimpses  that  he 
could  catch  of  the  scene  outside  he  judged  that  the  place 
was  a  little  barranca  among  the  hills. 

"In  the  evening  he  was  again  blindfolded,  and  the 
band  traveled  onward.  Laurie  thought  that  they  must  be 
a  good  distance  from  the  army,  for  the  banditti  were  more 
careless  than  they  had  been  before  and  laughed  and  sang 


HISTORY  OF  THOMAS  VANCE.  19 

as  if  all  necessity  for  caution  had  ceased.  Toward  day- 
break they  reached  a  hacienda,  which  they  called  San  Bene, 
and  Laurie  was  locked  up  in  a  stone  house  which  had, 
besides  the  door,  but  one  small  opening  near  the  roof  to  let  in 
light  and  air.  His  heart  sank  as  he  looked  around,  for  he 
saw  but  little  chance  of  his  escaping  from  his  prison.  Ap- 
parently his  captors  were  also  satisfied  with  the  security  of 
the  place  where  they  had  lodged  him,  for  they  unbound  him 
and  left  him  at  liberty  to  move  about,  only  they  took  the 
precaution  to  bar  and  bolt  the  door  after  them. 

"  Laurie  remained  there  for  three  days,  seeing  nothing  of 
his  captors  except  when  they  brought  him  his  meals,  and 
catching  his  only  glimpses  of  the.  outside  world  as  the  door 
of  his  prison  opened.  At  last  he  was  led  forth  and  found 
himself  before  a  group  of  some  thirty  or  forty  desperate- 
looking  fellows  who  were  collected  beneath  the  spreading 
branches  of  a  tree;  while  one,  who  seemed  to  be  their  leader, 
reclined  rather  than  sat  upon  a  rude  couch  made  of  a  few 
logs  with  branches  thrown  over  them.  It  was  not  a  pleasant- 
looking  company  to  be  ushered  into  ;  the  men  were  small, 
rough-looking  fellows,  with  complexions  of  every  shade,  from 
the  black  of  the  Negro  and  red  of  the  Indian  to  the  paleness 
of  the  Spaniard,  and  seemed  ready  for  any  mischief  or 
cowardly  deviltry  which  might  come  in  their  way. 

"  There  was  a  kind  of  uniform,  or  more  properly  speak- 
ing, a  kind  of  similarity,  in  their  costumes.  The  broad 
sombreros  were  gray  and  white,  laden  with  pendants  of 
Spanish  and  American  gold  coins  (spoils  of  some  camp  or 
battlefield)  intermixed  with  curious  silver  work  of  native 
manufacture,  with  bands  of  silver  about  the  crowns,  and  long 
feathery  plumes.  The  trousers  were  of  leather  with  the 
seams  opening  from  the  knee  downward,  and  ornamented 
with  broad  stripes  of  silver.  The  men  wore  also  short  riding 
jackets  of  colored  cloth  and  a  broad  red  sash  was  wound 
around  their  waists. 


20  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  Their  leader  gazed  curiously  at  Laurie  as  he  was  led 
forward,  and  Laurie  returned  his  gaze,  wondering  if  he  had 
not  seen  his  face  before. 

"  '  Remove  your  hat/  said  one  roughly,  and  as  Laurie  hesi- 
tated his  hat  was  snatched  from  his  head.     He  turned  to 
strike  down  the  insulter,  but  a  movement  of  the  Chieftain 
caught  his  eye  and  arrested  his  arm.     The  Chief  had  half 
risen,  his  hands  clutched  the  arms  of  his  rustic  seat,  his 
head  was  thrown  forward  and  his  eyes  were  stretched  to 
their  utmost  as  if  they  would  devour  Laurie's  face.     At  that 
moment  Laurie  would  have  sworn  that  he  had  seen  the  face 
before— but  where,  he  could  not  tell.    It  was  but  a  moment, 
and  then  the  leader  of  the  outlaws  sank  back  into  his  seat 
and  pulled  the  broad  brim  of  his  sombrero  over  his  eyes  so 
that  his  face  was  in  deep  shadow.     The  band  had  either 
not  noticed  his  action  or  had  thought  it  merely  a  motion  to 
prevent  a  fight,  and  the  business  of  the  hour   proceeded. 
Laurie  was  examined  as  to  who  he  was  and  where  he  came 
from,  whether  he  was  married,  how  much  property  he  had, 
and  many  other  questions  were  put  to  him  as  he  supposed 
for  the  purpose  of  fixing  a  ransom. 

"  The  conversation  o£  the  band  was  carried  on  in  a  Mexi- 
can dialect  which  Laurie  could  not  follow,  although  the  fre- 
quent repetition  of  the  word  pesos,  which  he  knew  meant 
dollars,  strengthened  the  supposition.  At  last,  he  was  re- 
manded to  his  prison. 

"  He  was  left  there  for  some  hours;  then  two  men  came 
in,  and  having  bound  his  hands  behind  his  back  led  him  out 
into  the  air  again.  They  left  him  standing  in  the  open 
and  went  away,  while  their  chief  came  from  the  shadow  of 
the  tree  and  stood  before  him. 

"  '  Well,  Seflor  Laurie/  he  said  removing  his  sombrero 
and  speaking  in  English,  '  do  you  know  me  now  ? ' 

"  The  face  was  strangely  familiar,  but  Laurie  could  not 
place  it  and  he  said  so. 


HISTOKY   OF   THOMAS   VANCE.  21 

"'So  you  have  forgotten  me?'  said  the  leader,  while  a 
grim  smile  played  over  his  features.  '  I  should  have  thought 
that  the  scar  upon  your  forehead  would  have  burned  re- 
membrance into  your  brain.' 

"  '  Sunbeam! '  Laurie  exclaimed. 

"  'Yes,  Sunbeam  !'  the  Chief  answered  with  a  fiendish 
sneer  upon  his  face,  which  as  he  spoke  became  distorted 
with  anger.  '  Sunbeam  !  Whose  back  still  bears  the  record 
of  the  day  he  dared  to  raise  his  hand  to  protect  his  honor. 
Sunbeam — once  a  slave,  now  a  free  man — a  rich  man  and  a 
strong  one.  Sunbeam,  who  has  waited  long  for  his  revenge 
and  sees  it  now  before  him.  I  have  bought  you  from  your 
captors  and  you  are  now  my  slave.  You  have  bought  slaves 
before.  You  know  the  rights  Avhich  purchase  gives  !  You 
are  my  slave  now  ! ' 

"  A  pang  of  mortal  terror  shot  through  Laurie's  heart 
before  the  fiendish  triumph  and  delight  of  Sunbeam.  He 
knew  that  this  opportunity  for  revenge  would  be  cruelly, 
remorselessly  used;  but  he  struggled  against  it  and  strove  i^ 
awaken  in  his  heart  a  stern  endurance,  a  resolute  contempt 
of  death. 

"  In  fierce  exultation,  with  wolfish  rage  and  ferocity, 
Sunbeam  broke  forth  again. 

"  '  Ha- ha-ha!'  he  shouted,  striking  Laurie  on  the  face  with 
his  open  palm, '  the  whipping  that  follows  this  blow  will  not 
be  on  my  back!  Has  the  dainty  flesh  which  a  slave's  hand 
might  not  touch  in  anger — has  it  hardened  with  time  so 
that  the  blow  of  the  driver's  whip  will  cause  no  pain  ?  You 
will  find  that  others  can  plot  as  well  as  you — dog,  traitor, 
scoundrel !  How  dismal  you  look  !  Are  you  not  grateful 
to  me  for  remembering  your  former  kindness  ?  But  there 
is  a  reckoning  between  us  that  must  be  settled.  Your  pay- 
ment will  be  prompt  and  sure.' 

"  He  drew  a  pistol  from  the  sash  which  was  wound  around 


22  THE    POMFEET   MYSTERY. 

his  waist  and  held  the  muzzle  within  a  foot  of  Laurie's  head; 
but  Laurie  had  collected  himself  and  stood  facing  him  calmly 
awaiting  the  flash  and  the  concussion. 

"  '  You  are  not  afraid  ! '  Sunbeam  shouted,  with  a  roar  like 
that  of  a  wild  beast;  '  but  to-morrow  we  will  see  how  your 
courage  holds  out.  Then  and  thereafter,  until  you  die, 
you  shall  be  whipped  as  I  was  whipped  years  ago.  Now  go 
and  dream  of  the  pleasure  that  awaits  you  ! ' 

"  At  his  signal  four  men  appeared,  and  seizing  Laurie 
they  thrust  him  again  into  prison." 


CHAPTEK  III. 

MORE  HISTORY 

"  IT  was  an  awful  threat  which  Sunbeam  had  given,  and 
Laurie  realized  its  full  horror  as  he  was  led  back  to  his  prison 
and  the  door  shut  upon  him.  There  was  no  food  and  no 
water  given  to  him  and  he  suffered  from  an  agonizing  thirst. 

"  At  midnight  there  was  a  noise  at  the  prison  door.  He 
listened  and  heard  the  bars  of  the  door  taken  noiselessly 
down.  He  groped  around  for  something  to  defend  himself 
with,  but  his  arms  were  still  tied  and  he  could  find  no 
weapon.  He  approached  the  door  and  stood  ready  to  spring 
out,  trusting  to  find  a  speedy  death  in  his  effort  to  escape. 

"The  door  swung  slowly  upon  until  a  thin  crack  of 
starlight  was  visible  and  a  low  voice  spoke  cautiously  in 
Spanish,  Oiga,  'Senorf 

"  Laurie  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  for  he  recognized  a 
woman's  voice  and  guessed  at  once  that  it  was  a  friendly 
errand  that  had  brought  her  there.  He  answered  in  English, 
'  I  am  here.' 

"  The  door  opened  wider,  and  a  woman  closely  muffled 


MORE    HISTORY.  23 

in  a  black  roboso  entered.  She  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  speaking  in  English,  said,  as  she  dropped  the 
roboso  from  her  face,  '  Seflor  Laurie,  do  you  know  me  ? ' 

"  '  Felice  ! '  he  exclaimed. 

"  *  Yes,  Seflor/  she  answered,  '  I  am  Felice.  Will  you 
trust  me  ? ' 

"  e  Trust  you  ?  Indeed  I  will/  Laurie  replied. 

"  She  drew  a  knife  from  the  folds  of  her  gown  and  cut 
the  cords  that  bound  him.  '  Here/  she  said,  giving  him  a 
flask  of  wine,  '  drink  this,  and  then  quickly  and  silently  chafe 
you  stiffened  arms/ 

'  •  He  did  as  he  was  bid,  while  she  in  low  eager  whispers 
questioned  him  about  those  he  had  left  at  home,  until  his 
circulation  was  restored  and  he  prepared  to  follow  her.  She 
guided  him  along  a  path  through  the  cactus  growth  and 
chapparal  until  they  came  to  a  deep  arroyo,  or  bed  of  a  dry 
water-course.  Here  were  two  horses  saddled  and  bridled 
in  charge  of  an  athletic  muchacho  about  fourteen  years  old. 

"  '  Mount,  Seflor  Laurie/  she  said.  '  Mount  and  ride  for 
your  life.  Stay  not !  Linger  not ! '  she  added  as  he  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  '  the  time  is  all  too  short.  Remember  what 
horrible  torture  Sunbeam  has  destined  for  you/ 

"  Laurie  vaulted  into  the  saddle  and  his  guide  rode  ahead 
leading  the  way.  Sometimes  their  road  led  by  the  side  of  a 
scanty  stream  along  the  bottom  of  a  barranco,  or  deep  rocky 
valley,  among  the  loose  rocks  and  stones  which  the  stream 
had  gathered  in  its  Autumnal  violence.  At  other  times 
they  Avended  their  way  over  a  rambla,  or  dry  bed  of  a  torrent 
cut  deep  into  the  mountains,  filled  with  shattered  fragments 
of  rock  and  shagged  by  immense  cliffs  and  precipices,  which 
formed  the  lurking  places  of  ambuscades  in  war  times  as 
afterwards  they  became  the  favorite  haunts  of  robbers,  from 
whence  they  sallied  forth  to  waylay  unfortunate  travelers. 
Again  their  paths  were  steep,  rocky  and  almost  impassable, 


24  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

where  the  horses  had  no  room  for  action  and  were  barely 
manageable,  having  to  scramble  from  rock  to  rock  and  up 
and  down  declivities  where  there  was  scarcely  footing  for  a 
goat.  And  over  all  hung  the  shadow  of  the  beetling  cliffs, 
making  their  way  dark  and  gloomy. 

"  Fatigued  and  wearied,  when  the  day  broke  they  shel- 
tered themselves  in  a  natural  grotto  under  an  overhanging 
rock,  while  a  bubbling  fountain  gave  them  the  means  of 
slaking  their  thirst  and  refreshing  their  exhausted  steeds. 
The  careful  forethought  of  Felice  had  hung  to  each  saddle- 
bow a  small  bag  of  pinole,  parched  corn  and  sugar,  and  this, 
mixed  with  water  till  it  became  like  gruel,  was  food  for  man 
and  beast. 

"  When  evening  fell  they  mounted  again  and  pursued 
their  journey,  until  in  the  light  of  early  dawn  the  Guide 
touched  Laurie's  shoulder  and  pointing  to  the  white  tents 
of  an  encampment  a  mile  or  two  away  said,  '  Mira,  Seflor 
mio;  then  turned  and  galloped  away. 

"  Laurie  waited  where  he  had  been  left  until  the  light 
grew  stronger  and  he  could  see  the  Stars  and  Stripes  floating 
in  the  morning  breeze,  then  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
galloped  down. 

"  Great  was  the  surprise  of  officers  and  men  when  they 
saw  a  mounted  officer  riding  into  camp,  and  many  were  their 
exclamations  of  astonishment  when  his  adventure  was  nar- 
rated. Laurie  wrote  a  long  letter  to  us  at  home  telling  us 
about  it,  and  with  that  letter  came  another  from  a  brother 
officer  telling  us  that  he  was  dead. 

;'  Two  days  afterwards,  this  latter  letter  said,  this  troop 
of  United  States  soldiers  surprised  the  guerrillas  and  cap- 
tured many.  Only  two  shots  were  fired— one  by  Laurie  as 
he  led  the  charge — one  by  Sunbeam  as  he  stood  at  bay. 
And  when  the  melee  was  over  two  dead  bodies  were  carried 
from  the  field.  One  was  the  body  of  Sunbeam,  shot  through 


MORE   HISTORY.  25 

the  heart ;  the  other  was  that  of  Laurie,  with  the  old  wound 
opened  and  a  bullet  in  his  brain.' }: 

When  Farmer  Morrow  ended  there  was  a  long  pause,  as  if 
his  mind  was  silently  dwelling  upon  the  memory  of  those 
old  days.  He  roused  himself  at  last,  however,  and  turning 
to  Archie  said: 

"  Such  was  the  way  that  Tom  Vance's  father  died.  To- 
morrow I  will  tell  you  more  about  Tom  Vance  himself. 
Now  it  is  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed." 

Archie  arose  and  kissed  his  mother  and  father  good  night. 
But  when  he  slept  it  was  to  dream  over  the  scenes  of  the 
story  which  his  father  had  told  to  him. 

During  the  days  which  intervened  between  the  time  of 
Archie's  departure  from  home  his  father  told  him  the  whole 
history  of  Thomas  Vance's  life — told  him  how  he  had  had 
a  sister,  many  years  younger  than  he,  who  had  been  stolen 
when  she  was  an  infant  and  who  had  never  been  found,  al- 
though the  family  had  ever  made  a  search  for  her — told 
him  how  old  Mr.  Vance  had  gone  blind  before  he  died.  So 
that  Archie  knew  the  whole  history  of  the  Vance  family  and 
grew  more  and  more  anxious  to  meet  his  fellow  travelers. 

One  month  afterwards  Archibald  Morrow  left  the  home 
where  he  was  born.  He  bore  with  him  wise  counsels  and  ad- 
monitions, and  loving  prayers  and  well-wishes  followed  him 
on  his  journey.  But  best  of  all  he  bore  within  his  own 
soul  high  resolves  and  noble  aspiration,  and  his  mind,  glanc- 
ing with  youthful  hopefulness  far  ahead,  pictured  to  him 
his  return,  crowned  with  honors,  reverenced  by  men,  hon- 
ored by  all. 

Soldiers,  statesmen  and  poets  may  have  ambitions,  but  the 
ambitions  of  a  boy  outstrip  them  all. 

But  could  Archibald  Morrow  have  foreseen  the  tempests 
that  would  beset  him,  the  hideous  shadows  that  would 
darken  his  life,  he  would  have  paused — have  shrunk  back 
affrighted. 


26  THE    POMFEET   MYSTERY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  CHANGE  OF  IDENTITIES. 

NINE  years  passed  away,  during  which  Archibald  Morrow 
did  not  once  revisit  his  home  among  the  Kentucky  hills. 
They  had  been  busy  years  to  Arthur  Vance  and  Archibald 
Morrow,  years  in  which  spells  of  hard  study  alternated  with 
times  of  rest  and  recreation,  years  checkered  with  joy  and 
sorrow,  with  mirth  and  grief,  years  in  which  the  two  youths 
had  grown  out  of  boyhood  into  manhood. 

Together  they  had  visited  the  countries  of  Europe,  had 
studied  art  in  Paris  and  music  in  the  song-loving  land  of 
Italy.  Time  had  but  cemented  their  friendship  for  each 
other.  They  had  grown  to  be  like  one  another  in  personal 
appearance  and  each  had  the  same  manner  of  speech  and 
bearing,  and  those  who  did  not  know  them  well  could  not 
tell  them  apart.  Each  had  the  same  curling  brown  hair, 
each  the  same  clear  gray  eyes,  each  wore  a  silken,  drooping 
brown  mustache.  Yet  there  was  a  difference  in  their 
figures,  for  though  they  were  both  about  the  same  height, 
Archibald  Morrow  was  the  stouter  and  more  muscular  of 
the  two. 

They  sat  one  day  on  a  bench  in  a  garden  in  a  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  town  in  Southern  Spain — a  large  and  pleasant 
garden  where  palms  grew  next  to  olive  trees  and  innumera- 
ble flowers  blossomed  in  their  shade.  Behind  them  was 
the  house  where  they  were  sojourning,  a  low,  stone  building 
whose  architecture  bore  unmistakable  signs  of  Moorish 
handicraft  and  irresistibly  carried  the  mind  back  to  the 
times  when  the  Moors  dominated  over  Spain.  Before  them 


A   CHAXGE    OF   IDENTITIES. 

stretched  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  sparkling 
under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  broken  into  gentle 
ripples  by  the  soft  breathing  of  the  evening  zephyr  which 
languidly  blew  over  the  sea  and  land. 

The  two  men  were  clothed  in  suits  of  mourning,  for 
Thomas  Vance  had  died  the  year  before.  Koman  fever, 
caught  in  the  Imperial  City,  had  caused  his  death,  and  the 
young  men  still  mourned  for  him.  His  large  fortune  had 
descended  to  his  son,  who  had  freely  shared  it  with  his  friend, 
so  that  the  two  men  had  but  one  purse  in  common  and  were 
bound  more  closely  by  the  ties  of  mutual  friendship. 

The  gay  life  of  the  European  capitals  had  become  dis- 
tasteful to  them  and  they  had  sought  out  this  little-known 
and  unfrequented  inn,  where  none  knew  them  and  where 
foreigners  seldom  came;  had  sought  it  out  not  only  to  get 
away  from  the  whirl  and  glitter  of  the  town  but  also  be- 
cause Arthur  had  become  enfeebled  with  long  watching  by 
the  bedside  of  his  father  and  hoped  to  find  renewed  strength 
in  rest  and  quiet.  His  father's  death  had  left  him  singularly 
alone  in  the  world.  He  was  an  only  child,  without  a  known 
relative,  and  his  heart  clung  with  desperate  tenacity  to  Archi- 
bald as  his  only  friend. 

The  two  young  men  sat  silent  for  some  time  smoking 
their  cigarettes  and  watching  the  scene  before  them.  At 
last  Arthur  Vance  rose  wearily  and  said: 

"  Archie,  I  feel  strangely  tired,  I  think  I  will  go  in  and 
sleep  a  little  while." 

Archie  rose  also,  and  his  quick  energetic  manner  brought 
the  languor  of  his  companion  into  greater  contrast. 

"  You  are  not  well,"  he  said.  "  I  have  noticed  that  you 
have  been  growing  more  and  more  easily  fatigued — more 
and  more  listless.  Had  we  not  better  return  to  Paris,  where 
you  can  have  medical  attendance  ?  It  would  be  sad  if  you. 
were  ill  in  such  a  place  as  this  ! " 


28  THE   POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  better  after  a  nap,"  Arthur  replied  lightly, 
trying  to  laugh  away  the  concern  that  he  saw  upon  his 
friend's  face.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be  all  right." 

But  an  earthly  to-morrow  never  dawned  for  Arthur 
Vance.  He  grew  weaker  as  the  night  deepened,  and  Archie, 
in  hot  haste,  despatched  messengers  for  the  nearest  physi- 
cians. Until  they  came  he  sat  by  the  bedside  of  his  friend, 
trying  with  his  feeble  energies  to  uphold  him  in  his  battle 
with  the  grim  destroyer. 

Hours  had  worn  away  and  medical  aid  had  not  arrived 
when  Arthur  awoke  from  a  light  and  seemingly  troubled 
slumber,  and  stretching  out  his  arm  he  took  Archie's  hand 
in  his  own. 

"  Archie,  old  friend,"  he  said,  "  for  many  happy  years 
we  have  been  like  brothers.  What  we  have  had  we  have 
had  in  common;  what  AVO  have  done  we  have  done  together. 
But  there  is  a  thing,  dear  fellow,  that  I  have  left  undone, 
something  that  I  know  now  will  wrong  you.  But,  oh  Archie, 
I  never  thought  that  I  should  die  so  soon.  You  need  not 
shake  your  head  like  that,  dear  friend,  I  know  full  well 
that  typhoid  has  seized  me.  I  have  only  a  few  hours  of 
sensibility,  only  a  few  days  of  life  remaining.  Kiss  me,  dear 
friend,  and  say  that  you  forgive  me." 

Archie  bent  down  and  kissed  him.  "Whatever  your 
offence  may  be,"  he  said,  "  it  is  forgiven." 

"Dear  Archie,"  said  the  sick  man  again,  "believe  me  I 
would  fain  live  for  your  sake.  You  are  not  fitted  to  bear 
the  stings  of  poverty.  I  always  meant  that  whether  I  lived 
or  whether  I  died  my  fortune  should  be  yours,  but  now  that 
I  feel  the  hand  of  Death  upon  me  I  know  well  that  I  have 
sinned  against  you.  Archie,  I  have  never  made  a  will." 

That  night  Arthur  Vance  died— died  before  any  will 
could  be  made— died  in  the  arms  of  his  friend,  whom  his 
death  doomed  to  comparative  poverty. 


A   CttAXGE   OF   IDENTITIES.  29 

Who  can  tell  what  a  conflict  of  emotions  raged  in  Archi- 
bald Morrow's  heart  then.  He  felt  grief  for  his  friend  and 
a  great  sorrow  that  Death  had  shaken  down  the  pleasant 
prospect  of  his  own  life.  All  the  remainder  of  the  night 
he  paced,  in  sorrowful  meditation,  up  and  down  the  narrow 
corridor  outside  the  dead  man's  room.  His  soul  was  filled 
with  a  vague  despair  and  fierce  rebellion  at  the  future  which 
he  seemed  to  see  before  him. 

Tempestuous  thoughts  and  wild  ideas  filled  his  brain. 
Why  should  he  be  doomed  to  poverty  or  a  life-long  struggle 
for  daily  bread  ?  His  friend  had  left  no  kith  nor  kin  to  be 
wronged  by  what  he  wished  to  do.  The  fortune  would  es- 
cheat to  the  State  or  be  eaten  up  by  the  greed  of  lawyers. 
The  name  was  like  an  empty  shell  waiting  for  the  first  comer 
to  seize  upon  it.  He  and  Arthur  had  been  strangers  in  a 
strange  land — no  one  knew  them — they  were  alike  in  face — 
he  knew  all  of  his  dead  friend's  affairs — there  was  no  one 
to  be  wronged. 

As  the  moments  flew  by  the  desire  to  personate  the  dead 
man  grew  greater  upon  him.  He  did  not  fear  the  chance 
of  detection,  for  let  him  live  for  a  few  years  in  some  remote 
corner  of  the  earth  and  when  he  emerged  again  who  would 
know  that  he  was  not  Arthur  Vance  ?  But  something  in- 
stinctively held  him  back.  Conscience,  that  inward  moni- 
tor, strove  to  restrain  him,  and  he  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  being  so  untrue  to  the  memory  of  his  friend. 

The  struggle  continued  until  the  daylight  dawned,  and 
when  the  sun  arose  in  the  heavens  conscience  was  beaten 
down  and  defeated  and  Archibald  had  decided  to  take  upon 
him  the  personality  of  the  man  who  had  died. 

So  when  the  authorities  came  to  record  the  death  of  the 
stranger  he  gave  them  his  own  name,  and  all  the  world 
except  himself  supposed  that  it  was  Archibald  Morrow 
whose  lifeless  clay  was  laid  at  rest  under  the  palm  trees. 


30  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  GAMBLER. 

THE  scene  shifts  to  the  City  of  New  York  and  the  time 
is  two  years  after  that  solemn  burial  of  the  stranger  in  the 
foreign  land  of  Spain. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  last  day  of  the  year— New  Year's 
Eve.     A  man  closely  muffled  in  a  heavy  fur-lined  cloak, 
with  warm  fur  gloves  upon  his  hands,  came  down  the  steps 
of  a  house  in  one  of  the  side  streets  between  Madison 
Square  and  Central  Park.     The  street  door  as  it  opened  for 
his  egress  let  out  a  flood  of  light,  then  closed  after  him  and 
the  house  was  dark  again.     The  man  reached  the  sidewalk 
and  stood  there  for  a  moment,  as  if  irresolute  where  to 
direct  his  steps.     A  cold  blast  of  the  west  wind  blew  up  the 
street  against  him  and  he  shivered  a  trifle  beneath  his  furs 
and  pulled  up  the  collar  of  his  coat.     Then  with  a  muttered 
imprecation  he  turned  and  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue. 
The  street  was  nearly  deserted  and  his  footfalls  rang  out, 
clear  and  distinct,  in  the  sharp  air.     The  night  was  still  and 
cold.     The  moon,  nearly  full,  was  in  the  zenith  and  shone 
with  icy  splendor  on  the  bare  streets  and  on  the  dull  brown 
walls  of  the  houses.     In  its  pale  light  everything  seemed  to 
take  a  strangely  unfamiliar  look,  but  the  man  scarcely 
heeded  the  appearance  of  the  night,  for  his  mind  was  intent 
with  its  inward  thoughts  and  cogitations,  and  was  filled  with 
that  grim  visitor — Remorse. 

Woe  to  a  man  when  he  is  haunted  by  Remorse  ! 
foes  he  can  hide  or  flee  from— death  he  can  battle  with  and 
defeat— misfortune,  poverty  and  woe  he  can  laugh  at— but 


A  GAMBLER.  31 

Remorse  is  stronger  and  more  implacable  than  them  all.  He 
may  seek  the  haunts  of  vice,  the  cell  of  the  hermit,  the 
laboratory  of  science,  the  classic  shades  of  literature, — he 
may  mix  with  the  gay  world  or  flee  to  the  desert — but  go 
where  he  will — do  what  he  may — Remorse  is  ever  with  him. 
Let  him  wake,  and  Remorse  will  control  his  thoughts.  Let 
him  sleep,  and  Remorse  will  conjure  dreams  for  him.  It 
makes  his  soul  its  abiding  place  and  will  not  be  driven 
thence.  Like  a  tyrant  it  will  rule  supreme.  It  will  banish 
hope;  it  will  wither  love;  it  will  scourge  him  as  only  it 
can  scourge;  it  will  curse  him  as  only  it  can  curse;  it  will  rob 
the  daylight  of  its  brightness  and  make  the  dark  night 
darker  yet. 

And  since  the  day  when  Archibald  Morrow  had  laid  his 
dead  friend  under  the  citrons  and  palms  of  Southern  Spain, 
Remorse  had  dwelt  with  him.  It  had  driven  him  to  wander 
restlessly  over  the  world.  It  had  cursed  the  dead  man's 
money.  It  had  made  the  dead  man's  memory  a  sad,  bitter 
and  reproachful  thing,  which  he  sought  in  vain  to  forget. 
It  drove  him  to  deeds  of  reckless  dissipation  and  soon  the 
fortune  which  he  had  risked  so  much  to  gain,  was  gone.  It 
drove  him  to  acts  of  crime  which  made  him  rich  again;  and, 
then,  it  throve  on  deeds  of  its  own  making. 

And  now,  in  one  of  those  moods  of  reckless  dissipation 
which  remorse  had  brought  upon  him,  he  had  once  more 
gambled  away  his  wealth,  and  reduced  himself  almost  to 
poverty.  Almost,  not  quite,  for  there  were  certain  houses 
in  New  York  which  had  belonged  to  the  dead  man,  and  these 
Archie  had  as  yet  refrained  from  selling.  As  he  thought 
of  them  an  evil  frown  darkened  his  face  and  he  swore  almost 
audibly. 

At  this  moment  a  strain  of  music  broke  upon  his  ear  and 
aroused  him;  and  looking  around  he  saw  that  he  stood 
before  a  church.  The  stained-glass  windows  threw  gleams 


32  THE   POMFEET   MYSTERY. 

of  colored  light  out  into  the  darkness,  and  the  moonbeams 
brought  out  more  distinctly  the  gothic  lines  of  the  building 
and  the  fretted  stonework  of  the  portal  and  threw  parts  of 
the  solid  masonry  and  fantastic  carvings  into  black  shadow. 
The  music  rose  again,  low  and  indeterminate,  with  a  gentle 
and  somber  dignity,  like  the  strain  of  a  far-off  choir  reach- 
ing him  through  the  weird  night  gulfs  of  the  upper  air. 

He  stood  upon  the  pavement  half  listening,  half  in  reverie. 
The  memories  of  his  childhood's  days,  of  his  mother's  prayers 
by  his  bedside  when  she  had  laid  him  to  rest,  of  his  father's 
wise  words  of  admonition,  came  upon  him  like  an  avalanche. 

A  cab  rattled  noisily  by  over  the  rough  stones  and  broke 
the  spell  and  he  moved  forward  as  if  to  enter.  Up  the  steps 
into  the  courtyard  he  strode  and  then  halted  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  a  strange  sight. 

Within  a  corner  formed  by  a  projecting  buttress,  almost 
hidden  in  deep  shadow,  was  a  girl,  six  or  seven  years  of  age, 
clothed  in  a  ragged  gown  and  with  a  tattered  shawl  thrown 
over  her  head.  By  her  side  was  a  basket  of  matches,  and 
he  knew  that  she  was  waiting  until  the  New  Year  should 
dawn  and  send  forth  the  watchers  from  the  church.  But 
it  was  weary  waiting  and  she  had  fallen  asleep,  and  now  lay 
in  the  bitter  cold  huddled  in  the  angle  of  the  stone-work. 

Impelled  by  an  instinct  of  pity  Archie  stepped  forward  to 
arouse  her,  but  halted  abruptly,  for  he  saw  a  shining  object 
in  her  lap.  He  knew  well  what  it  was — a  golden  double 
eagle  which  some  charitable  person  seeing  the  little  child 
asleep  had  dropped  into  her  lap. 

A  golden  double  eagle  !  That  was  a  fortune  to  the  little 
girl.  Ah,  if  he  only  had  as  much !  He  started  at  the 
thought  which  entered  his  mind.  A  fortune  for  her  !  Did 
not  it  mean  a  fortune  for  him  too  ?  All  that  evening  he 
had  stood  at  the  roulette-table  and  staked  his  money  and 
lost,  but  now !  Midnight  was  a  lucky  time  to  bet — he 


A  GAMBLER.  33 

could  borrow — yes,  it  was  only  borrowing—  this  piece — go 
back  to  the  gambling  house  and  return  before  the  child 
awakened.  He  glanced  around  to  see  if  he  was  unobserved, 
and  then  with  trembling  fingers  he  clutched  the  gold  coin. 
In  an  instant  it  had  dropped  into  his  pocket. 

He  stood  erect  and  glanced  again  cautiously  around. 
Then  with  quick  steps,  almost  running,  he  sped  up  the 
avenue.  He  turned  the  corner  and  hurried  up  the  steps  of 
the  house  which  he  had  left  but  a  few  minutes  before.  It  was 
dark,  and  a  stranger  might  have  thought  that  it  was  de- 
serted, but  he  knew  that  all  was  light  and  glitter  within. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  recall  the  signal  which  would 
gain  him  admittance,  and  then  rang  the  bell — once — thrice 
— twice — a  ad  waited,  listening,  expecting  that  every  moment 
the  clocks  would  chime  out  the  hour  of  midnight. 

The  door  swung  ajar  and  a  face  peered  cautiously  out, 
then,  as  he  was  recognized,  the  door  opened  wider,  and  as  it 
did  so  the  clock  on  the  neighboring  church  tower  tolled  one. 
He  passed  in  and  synchronously  he  heard  the  second  chime 
of  the  bell  and  the  clang  of  the  closing  door.  He  pushed 
hurriedly  through  the  group  of  men  smoking  in  the  front 
room  and  entered  the  rear  apartment,  still  in  time,  for  he 
yet  heard  the  sound  of  the  chimes,  though  muffled  and  in- 
distinctly. 

He  threw  the  golden  coin  on  the  table  and  won.  He 
staked  his  winnings  and  won  again,  and  again,  and  again — 
until  the  money  was  piled  in  heaps  before  him.  He  did 
not  stay  for  congratulations,  but  thrust  the  bank-bills  and 
the  rouleaux  of  gold  into  his  pockets  and  hurried  back  to 
the  church. 

Was  he  in  time  ?  Yes  !  The  child  still  slept.  He  shook 
her  gently  by  the  shoulder  and  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
stared  sleepily  at  him. 

"  She  is  half  frozen.  If  I  had  stayed  longer  she  would 
2 


34  THE  POMFBET  MYSTERY. 

have  died  ! "  he  thought  with  a  shudder.  Aloud  he  said, 
"  Come  with,  me  child,  you  must  have  something  to  warm 
you!" 

She  arose  and  stood  tottering,  as  if  her  benumbed  legs  re- 
fused to  support  her;  then  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  down  to  Sixth  Avenue,  where  he  knew  that  there 
was  an  oyster  saloon  that  would  be  open.  There  the  warm 
air  and  food  revived  her. 

He  learned  her  history  and  where  she  lived,  and  when  she 
left  the  pocket  of  her  tattered  dress  was  crammed  with 
bank-notes — how  many  he  never  knew,  he  put  them  in  by 
handf  uls  until  the  pocket  would  hold  no  more. 

Not  until  she  had  gone  did  he  realize  that  he  had  eaten 
nothing  since  noon  of  the  previous  day. 

He  ate  heartily  and  drank  deeply — more  deeply  than  was 
his  wont — for  when  his  hunger  was  appeased  thoughts  arose 
which  he  tried  to  drown  in  alcohol.  In  spite  of  all  that  he 
could  do  his  mind  would  revert  to  the  events  of  the  evening 
— to  his  ill-fortune — to  the  golden  coin  of  the  match-girl — 
to  his  childhood's  days — to  his  wonderful  luck  at  the  gam- 
ing table.  He  had  won  and  returned  a  hundred  fold— but 

if  he  had  lost ! 

He  drank  more  deeply  to  hide  the  thoughts,  but  the  ex- 
citement which  had  ruled  and  sustained  him  before  had 
died  out  and  the  full  meaning  of  his  act  was  clear  to  him. 
He  could  no  longer  deceive  himself  with  the  delusion  that 
he  had  merely  borrowed  the  coin  from  the  little  girl.  His 
act  was  worse  than  that !  He  saw  it  now,  with  all  its  hid- 
eousness.  The  alcohol  which  he  had  imbibed  was  already 
making  itself  felt  in  stimulating  the  mind  and  rendering 
his  powers  of  perception  stronger  and  clearer.  Later  on  it 
would  dim  and  obscure  his  faculties. 

He  tossed  a  coin  to  the  waiter  and  passed  out  into  the 
frosty  air,  but  his  thoughts  still  followed  him.  The  very 


"THEN  HE  LIFTED  HER  IN  HIS  ARMS  AND  CARRIED  HER  DOWN."    Page  34. 


36  THE  POMERET  MYSTERY. 

echo  of  his  footsteps  as  he  strode  along  seemed  to  cry  out  to 
him,  "  Thief  !  Thief  ! "    He  felt  a  wild,  reckless  mood  com- 
ing upon  him— a  fierce  impenitence  that  made  him  mutter 
curses  as  he  strode  along.     "  Theft  I »    Well,  what  of  that  ? 
Whose  business  was  it,  since  he  had  returned  more  than  he 
took?    Ah  yes,  but  such  a  mean  and  petty  theft ! 
from  a  little  match-girl !     He  felt  a  sickening  disgust  with 
himself  for  having  stooped  so  low.     His  past  crimes  had 
been  so  vast,  so  ambitious,  that  their  very  magnitude  had 
seemed  to  hide  their  full  iniquity.     But  a  single  com- 

a  match-girl ! 

The  thought  haunted  him;   and  his  soul,  as  he  strode 

onward,  seemed  a  hell  to  him. 

None  but  he  who  has  been  without  friends  can  ever  know 
how  terrible  a  thing  it  is  to  be  f riendless-and  that  was  this 
man's  condition.     He  had  hosts  of  so-called  friends-ac- 
quaintances who  liked  his  bright  and  merry  humor-ac- 
quaintances whom  his  money  brought  about  him  to  enjoy 
its  benefits  or  to  bask  in  its  golden  glitter-but  his  last 
real  true  friend  lay  buried  far  away  in  Southern  Spam,  and 
there  was  no  one,  now  that  remorse  claimed  him,  to  whom 
he  could  go,  no  one  to  whom  he  could  unburden  his  whole 
heart  and  in  whose  silent  and   unspoken   friendship    he 
could   find   strength  and  a  refuge.      Not  that  he  would, 
had  there  been  such,  have  told  the  whole  tale  of  his  mis- 
deeds, but  he  would  have  found  relief  in  vague,  mdefimt 
self-reproaches  and  self-incriminations— in   a   sort  of  coi 
fession   that  would  have  relieved  his  conscience  wit. 
disclosing  aught  of  the  truth. 

He  reached  his  lodgings,  staggered  to  his  rooms,  anc 
throwing  himself  upon  his  bed  fell  into  a  drunken  sleep. 
But  oh,  what  dreams  came  to  him  ! 


POMFEET.  37 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

POMFEET. 

POMFEET  was  a  thriving  manufacturing  town  in  the  North- 
eastern corner  of  Connecticut.  A  river  ran  through  it,  fur- 
nishing power  for  many  mills,  and  there  were  two  railroads; 
besides  it  was  the  market-town  of  the  surrounding  country. 
The  farmers  came  to  it  from  miles  around  to  sell  the  produce 
of  their  farms,  exchange  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood, 
purchase  their  necessary  supplies,  or  to  see  the  various 
theatrical  troupes  and  circus  shows  that  now  and  then  stop 
there. 

The  town  itself  was  disfigured  by  the  multitude  of  square, 
unattractive  tenements  in  which  the  poorer  of  the  factory 
hands  slept  and  ate;  but  fortunately  most  of  these  structures 
were  in  the  side  streets,  and  a  stranger,  passing  hastily 
through  the  town,  would  have  called  it  pretty.  Especially 
would  he  have  pronounced  this  opinion  after  viewing  the 
main  street,  which  had  once  been  the  turnpike  between 
Boston  and  Hartford,  and  was  broad,  well  kept  and  shaded 
on  either  side  by  rows  of  overarching  elms. 

On  one  side  of  this  street  stood  the  Pomf ret  Bank :  a  red- 
brick, one-story  structure  with  bars  across  the  windows  and 
a  stone  set  in  the  front  wall  over  the  door  giving  the  name 
of  the  institution  and  the  date  of  the  erection  of  the  build- 
ing. Adjoining  the  bank,  and  almost  forming  part  of  it — 
for  a  door  wat>  cut  between  the  two  buildings  and  you  could 
pass  from  one  to  the  other — was  the  dwelling  of  Squire 
Leslie. 

At  nine  o'clock"  one  Spring  evening  Ethel  Leslie,  the 


38  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

Squire's  daughter,  sat  sewing  in  the  parlor  of  her  father's 
house.  It  was  somewhat  cold  outside  and  a  fire  crackled 
on  the  hearth.  She  was  alone,  but  she  was  not  concerned 
about  that,  for  Pomfret  was  a  quiet  place  and  its  people  had 
few  visits  from  dangerous  characters.  But  this  night  as 
Ethel  sat  there  quietly  sewing  she  was  startled  by  a  noise 
outside— a  noise  which  sounded  like  the  moan  of  some 
fellow-creature  in  distress.  She  dropped  her  work  and 
listened. 

Every  one  who  has  been  alone  at  night  in  an  empty  house 
know  hows  distinctly  all  sounds  fall  upon  the  ear,  and  what 
tremors  they  are  apt  to  occasion  even  in  the  mind  of  the 
most  courageous  person.  A  rat,  nibbling  behind  the  wain- 
scoting, may  be  magnified  into  burglars  trying  the  lock  of 
a  door;  the  purring  of  the  cat  may  seemed  like  the  sup- 
pressed breathing  of  a  hidden  man;  sounds  like  careful 
footsteps  are  heard  overhead  and  the  slamming  of  a  door 
fills  one  with  nervous  tremors.  Ethel  was  courageous,  but 
the  ghostly  moaning  which  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night 
filled  her  with  trepidation. 

But  as  the  sound  was  repeated  it  lost  its  terror  and  she 
realized  that  it  was  indeed  no  ghostly  manifestation  but  the 
moan  of  a  human  being  in  pain.  Although  her  fears  were 
allayed  she  could  not  but  wish,  as  she  rose  from  her  chair, 
that  her  father  and  Aunt  Martha  were  at  home.  She  had, 
however,  one  protector  in  the  house,  and  that  was  a  large 
Scotch  collie,  Rover  by  name,  who  had  already  heard  the 
sounds  and  was  now  sitting  up  upon  the  rug  watching  his 
mistress  with  large,  wistful  eyes.  Bidding  him  follow  her, 
she  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  The  light  of  the  lamp 
in  the  hall  shone  out  upon  the  porch  and  showed  her  the 
form  of  a  woman,  lying  prone  upon  her  face  and  every  now 
and  then  uttering  those  moans  which  she  had  heard. 
Ethel  stood  for  a  moment  lost  in  amazement,  pondering 


POMFEET.  39 

what  to  do.  She  looked  up  and  down  the  street  hoping  to 
see  some  one  whom  she  could  call  to  her  aid,  but  no  one  was 
in  sight.  It  was  evident  that  the  poor  creature  must  be 
brought  into  the  house  and  that  she  alone  would  have  to 
do  it;  so  she  bent  down  and  clasped  her  hands  about  the 
slender  form  of  the  prostrate  woman,  and  half-lifting  half- 
dragging,  managed  to  carry  her  into  the  parlor  and  place 
her  on  the  lounge.  But  the  motion  had  been  more  than 
the  feeble  strength  of  the  poor  creature  could  endure  and 
Ethel  saw  that  she  had  fainted. 

Fortunately  the  dog  had  been  trained  to  fetch  and  carry 
and  to  bear  messages  from  places  in  the  village,  and  Ethel 
hastily  writing  upon  a  slip  of  paper  the  words,  "  Come  as 
quickly  as  you  can;  a  stranger  is  here  ill/'  signed  her  name 
to  it,  and  gave  it  to  Hover,  saying  "  Good  doggie,  carry  to 
Doctor  Gamble's." 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail  as  if  to  say  that  he  understood  and 
bounded  off,  and  Ethel  was  left  alone  with  her  charge.  Do 
what  she  would  she  could  not  rouse  her  from  unconscious- 
ness, and  it  was  with  joy  that  she  heard  a  wagon  roll  into 
the  yard  and  knew  that  her  father  and  Aunt  Martha  had 
returned. 

A  few  hurried  words  told  them  what  had  happened,  and 
Ethel  had  scarcely  concluded  her  story  when  the  Doctor 
entered.  Aunt  Martha,  bustling  about,  soon  had  a  bed 
prepared  and  the  stranger  was  removed  thither. 

Under  the  Doctor's  skillful  care  the  stranger  quickly  re- 
gained consciousness,  and  then  the  Doctor  administered  an 
opiate  and  she  sank  into  slumber. 

"  She  needs  rest  more  than  medicines,"  the  physician 
remarked  as  he  seized  his  hat  and  cloak  preparatory  to  going 
home.  "  I  will  stop  in  here  in  the  morning,  and  then  she 
can  tell  us  who  she  is." 

"  And  I,"  said  Ethel,  "  will  sleep  on  a  lounge  in  her  room 
so  as  to  be  at  hand  if  she  wakes. " 


40  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  do  that/'  Aunt  Martha  said. 
"  No  ! "  Ethel  rejoined.    "  I  found  her   and   so  I  will 
watch." 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  and  the  day  was  partly 
spent  when  the  sufferer  awoke  from  a  deep  and  refreshing 
slumber.  As  she  moved  restlessly  and  opened  her  eyes 
Ethel  was  by  her  side. 

"  Where  ami?"  she  murmured,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
unaccustomed  surroundings 

"With  friends/'  Ethel  answered.  ."Yon  have  been 
very  ill  and  fell  fainting  at  our  door,  last  night.  You  must 
not  talk  much." 

The  girl,  for  she  was  scarcely  more  than  sixteen  years  of 
age,  sighed  wearily  as  if  Ethel's  words  had  brought  back  to 
her  the  memory  of  her  agony. 

"  If  you  will  lie  still  I  will  bring  your  breakfast  and  after 
you  have  eaten  that  perhaps  you  will  be  strong  enough  to 
tell  us  something  about  yourself,"  Ethel  continued,  and  as 
the  sick  woman  murmured  a  low  assent  she  left  the  room. 

Strengthened  and  refreshed  by  the  meal  the  invalid  was 
able  to  rise  and  was  seated  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair  when 
the  Doctor  arrived. 

"  Now,  Ethel,"  he  said,  "  go  down  to  Aunt  Martha.  I  wish 
to  have  a  talk  alone  with  my  patient." 

Ethel  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  more  than  half  an  hour 
passed  before  old  Doctor  Gamble  called  her  back. 

"  She  needs  no  medicine,"  he  said  as  Ethel  approached, 
"  but  only  rest.  In  a  day  or  two  she  will  be  strong  enough 
to  move  about.  Go  to  her  now  and  get  her  to  tell  you  her 
story.  I  will  come  back  again  at  night-fall." 

As  Ethel  entered  the  room  the  stranger  glanced  at  her 
gratefully,  exclaiming,  "  You  are  all  so  good  to  me  ! " 

"  We  have  done  no  more  than  our  duty,"  Ethel  answered 
with  a  smile.  "  But  is  there  no  one  to  whom  you  would  like 
word  to  be  sent  as  to  where  you  are  ?  " 


POMFKET.  41 

The  stranger  sighed  as  she  answered,  "  There  is  not  one 
who  cares  whether  I  live  or  die — not  one.  But  you  have  a 
right  to  know  my  story,"  she  continued,  "to  know  who  it 
is  that  you  have  taken  in  and  cared  for. 

"  My  name  is  Adele — Adele  Hollenbeck.  I  married  against 
my  parents'  wishes  scarcely  a  year  ago.  They  were  am- 
bitious, and  had  other  plans  for  me,  but  though  Henry  was 
only  a  carpenter  I  loved  him.  It  is  the  old  story — they 
forbade  him  the  house,  but  we  found  means  to  communicate, 
and  one  evening  I  stole  out  of  my  home  and  met  him  and 
we  were  married.  When  my  parents  heard  that,  they  dis- 
owned me,  and  I  have  never  neard  from  them  since. 

"  For  the  first  few  months  after  we  were  married  every- 
thing went  well  with  us,  but  then  Henry  fell  into  bad  com- 
pany and  things  changed.  You  can  know  nothing  of  that 
sad  story  of  the  poor — how  bit  by  bit  the  husband  slips  into 
evil  ways — into  idleness  and  drunkenness — how  the  wages 
that  he  brings  home  become  less  and  less  until  they  are  but 
a  few  small  coins,  and  at  last — nothing.  Then  one  after 
another  the  treasures  of  the  household  go  to  the  pawnshop 
— then  the  furniture  follows,  and  step  by  step  the  family 
sinks  lower  and  lower  into  poverty  and  distress. 

"  I  bore  with  it  all  for  a  while,  for  I  knew  that  I  would 
soon  give  birth  to  a  child,  and  I  thought  that  when  the  little 
angel  came  Henry  would  leave  off  his  evil  ways  and  reform. 
And  I  was  right;  for  when  the  child  was  born  Henry 
changed  and  was  kind  and  loving  as  he  had  been  before. 
But  the  babe  died  when  it  was  but  a  few  weeks  old  and 
Henry  took  to  his  evil  ways  again.  Even  then  I  would  have 
tried  to  reform  him,  but  he  was  worse  than  before,  and  some- 
times he  came  home  drunk  and  then  he  would  beat  me. 

"  I  stood  that  life  until  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Then 
some  one  told  me  I  could  get  work  in  Boston,  and  I  pawned 
the  last  of  my  trinkets  and  with  the  money  I  bought  my 


42  THE   POMFEET  MYSTERY. 

railway  ticket.  I  thought  that  if  I  could  get  work  away, 
where  Henry  could  not  find  me,  I  could  perhaps  save  money 
and  by  and  by  redeem  him  from  the  life  of  infamy  that  he 
was  leading. 

"  I  took  the  slowest  train  because  that  was  the  cheapest,  and 
as  we  rolled  farther  and  farther  from  New  York  I  began  to 
feel  more  and  more  safe.  But  you  know  how  that  train 
waits  here  until  the  fast  express  passes  it,  and  as  I  was  watch- 
ing out  of  the  car  window  I  saw  the  express  come  rolling  in 
on  the  other  side  of  the  station.  Judge  my  terror  when  I 
saw  Henry  alighting  from  it.  Some  one  must  have  told 
him  of  my  flight  and  he  had  followed  me. 

"  I  had  only  a  small  bundle,  and  I  seized  that  and  hurry- 
ing to  the  platform  of  the  car  I  jumped  to  the  ground  on 
the  side  of  the  train  away  from  the  depot.  A  freight  train 
was  on  the  next  track  and  I  crawled  under  that  and  stood 
panting  behind  it  until  the  passenger  train  had  rolled  out  of 
sight.  I  did  not  even  know  the  name  of  the  place  where  I 
was,  but  I  was  willing  to  work,  and  I  thought  that  I  might 
find  something  to  do  here  as  well  as  elsewhere.  All  the  rest 
of  the  day  I  vainly  sought  employment,  and  when  night 
came  I  found  myself  homeless  and  without  money  to  pay 
for  a  night's  lodging  or  for  food.  Then  it  was  that  I  saw 
the  light  in  your  window  and  I  determined  to  make  one 
more  effort.  But  at  your  door  my  strength  deserted  me  and 
I  fell  helpless  as  you  found  me." 

The  tears  were  coursing  down  Ethel's  cheeks  as  this  sad 
story  was  being  told,  and  even  the  stranger's  eyes  were  glis- 
tening with  moisture  as  she  spoke. 

"You  must  stay  here  until  you  get  well  and  strong," 
Ethel  said,  "  then  perhaps  we  can  find  some  work  for  you 
to  do." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Adele  Hollenbeck,  when  she 
grew  stronger,  was  installed  as  maid  of  all  work  in  Squire 
Leslie's  family. 


AN  ASSIGNATION.  43 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN  ASSIGNATION. 

ALL  New  England  knew  Squire  Leslie.  Knew  him  be- 
cause as  a  boy  he  had  fought  with  Perry  on  Lake  Erie — and 
that  was  fame  in  days  of  old;  knew  him,  because  he  owned 
a  little  mill  by  the  river  that  spun  bales  of  cotton  into  twine 
with  which  New  England's  storekeepers  tied  up  their  bun- 
dles; knew  him,  because  for  forty  years  he  had  traveled 
over  the  country  stump- speaking  for  his  party;  and  lastly, 
he  was  well  known  in  financial  circles  as  the  President  and 
principal  owner  of  the  Pomfret  Bank.  But  the  young  men 
of  the  town  thought  of  him  generally  as  the  father  of  Ethel 
Leslie. 

Tall  and  stout,  with  a  big  head  fringed  with  snowy  locks 
of  hair  and  with  a  smooth  shaven  face  somewhat  reddened 
by  exposure  to  the  elements,  the  Squire  was  a  fine  specimen 
of  the  country  magnate. 

He  had  been  a  widower  for  many  years,  and  since  his  wife's 
death  Ethel  had  kept  house  for  him,  assisted  by  Aunt 
Martha,  her  mother's  first  cousin — but  Ethel's  position  was 
a  sinecure,  for  it  was  really  Aunt  Martha  upon  whom  the 
cares  of  the  household  fell. 

The  Squire  was  the  last  of  a  class  of  country  magnates 
now  rapidly  dying  out  of  existence.  Once  the  Squire  of  a 
country  town  was  one  of  the  most  important  aristocrats  of 
New  England.  Being  generally  the  only  lawyer  and  Justice 
of  the  Peace  in  the  neighborhood  he  was  employed  to  draw 
the  deeds  and  the  wills  and  settle  the  quarrels  of  the  neigh- 


44  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

bors,  but  he  also  occupied  the  more  lucrative  position  of  the 
investor  of  the  people's  savings.  They  brought  their  hoards 
to  him  and  he  put  them  out  at  interest,  charging  both  lender 
and  borrower  a  commission.  Sometimes  too,  the  accumu- 
lations of  some  twenty  or  thirty  people  would  be  invested 
in  one  mortgage  and  one  or  two  would  want  their  share 
before  it  fell  due  and  the  Squire  had  a  chance  to  buy  them 
out  at  a  discount.  It  was  this  conjunction  of  a  law  and  a 
banking  business  that  made  the  Squires  wealthy  and  enabled 
them  to  live  in  the  largest  houses  in  the  towns.  But  when 
Savings  Banks  were  established  the  importance  of  the  Squire 
waned,  though  the  title  did  not  become  extinct,  and  one  of 
those  to  whom  it  still  clung  was  old  Herman  Leslie. 

Ethel  Leslie,  the  Squire's  daughter  and  the  belle  of 
Pomfret,  was  eighteen  years  old.  Her  mother  had  died 
when  she  was  young  and  left  her  in  Aunt  Martha's  charge. 
In  personal  appearance  she  was  short  and  rather  slight, 
though  plump,  and  her  eyes  were  dark  blue,  large  and  capa- 
ble of  changing  almost  in  an  instant  from  sparkling  mis- 
chief to  tender  love.  Her  complexion  was  clear  and  pure. 
A  bright  color  was  in  her  cheeks,  and  each  cheek  had  a 
dimple  which  showed  itself  most  bewitchingly  when  she 
smiled.  Her  hair  was  thick  and  long  and  brown,  with  a 
natural  wave  or  ripple  in  it  that  enhanced  its  loveliness. 
She  was  a  picture  of  perfect  health  and  girlish  loveliness, 
grace  and  innocence,  but  the  careful  observer,  noting  the 
low,  broad  forehead  and  short,  straight  nose  and  square  chin, 
would  have  prophesied  that  there  was  in  her  nature  a  de- 
termination and  energy,  a  capability  of  loving  dearly  and  of 
suffering  silently  and  bitterly.  She  had  not  often  been 
away  from  Pomfret,  but  she  had  learned  all  that  the  teachers 
of  the  high  school  there  could  teach  her,  and  the  music 
master  of  the  town  had  found  her  an  apt  pupil  in  both 
singing  and  playing. 


Atf  ASSIGNATION.  45 

By  nature  something  of  a  coquette,  she  took  pride  in  her 
dress,  which  she  wore  with  a  natural  grace  and  dignity.  She 
was  fond  of  fun,  and  was  the  life  of  every  frolic  that  took 
place  in  the  neighborhood.  But  underneath  the  vivacity 
and  high  spirits  natural  to  her  youth  and  her  good  health 
there  was  a  fond,  loving  woman's  nature,  only  waiting  for 
a  pure  deep  love  to  develop  it. 

Some  distance  from  the  Squire's  house,  on  the  Main 
Street,  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  bank,  stood  the  Pomfret 
Meeting  House,  and  on  its  steps  a  group  of  men  were  chat- 
ting, as  country  people  do  after  "  Meeting,"  a  little  more 
than  a  year  after  Adele  Hollenbeck  had  been  rescued  by 
Ethel.  Meeting  was  just  over  and  the  congregation  had 
just  emerged  from  the  building. 

"Waal,  Squire,  you  seem  hearty,"  said  Deacon  Grosvenor 
as  he  joined  the  group  and  addressed  the  Squire.  "  Fine 
hayin'  weather  this." 

"  We  always  do  have  good  hayin*  weather  on  the  Sabbath," 
the  Squire  rejoined.  "I  have  not  been  out  your  way  for 
quite  a  spell,  Deacon ;  what  sort  of  crop  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  Toler-ble,  only  toler-ble.  It's  been  most  too  dry  fur 
the  grass  to  grow  well." 

"  I  hear  that  widow  Bixby's  decided  to  sell  her  farm  and 
move  West;  has  she  had  any  offers  for  it  ?  " 

"  Waal,  I  thought  suthin  of  buying  myself,  but  that  ere 
stranger-fellow  who's  been  staying  at  Hillhouse's  has  been 
a  sort  o'  nibblin'  at  it,  an'  I  guess  he  kin  pay  more  money 
fur  it  than  I  kin." 

"  I  have  seen  him  about  the  town.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Fellow  from  New  York  stayin'  down  at  the  tavern. 
Hillhouse  says  he's  the  best  fellow  I've  seen  fur  a  long  while. 
Sort  o'  artist  chap  I  reckon;  I  seed  him  pantin'  round  the 
country  las'  week." 

"  He's  a  good  looking  young  fellow." 


46  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  Yes,  that  he  is;  just  the  kind  o'  feller  the  girls  like,  hey 
Squire  !  Them  brown  eyes  and  curly  hair  'o  his'n  air  difrent 
from  most  folks'.  Hillhouse  says  that  he  got  lots  o'  money 
and  paints  for  fun  only,  and  that  he's  going  to  stay  all  sum- 
mer." 

"Well/'  said  the  Squire,  "  I  guess  that  he'll  be  coming 
down  to  bank  then,  before  long.  Hullo  !  There's  Chester— 
I'll  walk  down  with  him,"  and  nodding  good-by  he  went  off 
with  Ephraim  Chester,  the  cashier  of  the  bank. 

"  Squire  looks  well,"  said  one  of  the  group  that  had  been 
left  behind.  "  He's  gettin'  old  though,  an'  don't  walk  as 
light  as  he  used." 

"He  must  be  a  pretty  rich  man,"  rejoined  another. 
"  Guess  Ethel  will  have  a  plum  when  he  dies." 

"  They  say  Benny  Moore's  mighty  far  gone  on  her. 
Benny's  a  nice  fellow,  hope  he  gets  her.  He's  'bout  got 
through  studying'  law  with  the  Squire,  ain't  he  ?  They  say 
he's  going'  to  set  up  his  shingle  fur  himself  in  the  Fall." 

Gradually  the  groups  broke  up.  Those  who  lived  in  the 
village  walked  away  and  those  further  from  home  backed 
out  their  horses  from  the  unpainted  wooden  sheds  and  drove 
off,  while  some  who  came  from  a  still  greater  distance  and 
who  stayed  for  the  afternoon  services  sought  out  shady  spots 
under  the  trees  and  ate  the  lunches  that  they  had  brought 
with  them. 

Southward  from  the  town,  where  the  river  widened  out 
and  became  more  shallow  and  ran  through  low  lying  meadow- 
lands  and  quiet  groves  of  trees  the  people  of  Pomfret  had 
laid  out  a  park.  Little  had  been  done  except  to  reserve  the 
land  and  to  place  a  few  benches  here  and  there  and  erect 
rough  board  seats  and  tables  for  picnic  parties.  Nature  had 
done  the  rest,  and  it  was  well  that  it  had  been  left  for  her 
to  do,  for  she  was  the  best  landscape  gardener  for  so  beauti- 
ful a  spot.  The  park  was  crowded  during  the  Sunday 


AN  ASSIGNATION.  47 

afternoons  with  operatives  from  Pomf ret,  but  at  night  it  was 
deserted  and  quiet. 

On  this  particular  Sunday  night,  however,  a  solitary  figure 
might  be  seen  pacing  with  slow  steps  up  and  down  a  narrow 
streak  of  pebbly  beach  from  which  the  river  had  shrunk 
away — for  the  days  were  hot  and  it  was  the  season  of  the 
Summer  droughts.  The  moon,  three  quarters  full,  had 
risen  in  the  east,  but  the  trees,  over  arching  above  the 
solitary  loiterer,  shut  off  her  rays  from  the  path  where  he 
trod.  It  was  the  stranger. 

Every  now  and  then  he  raised  his  head  as  some  noise 
reached  his  ear,  and  looked  anxiously  about  him  as  if  expect- 
ing some  one.  The  moon  moved  slowly  into  the  zenith  and 
the  moonbeams  began  to  stray  through  openings  in  the 
br  mches  of  the  trees  and  fall  in  patches  of  silver  upon  the 
beach  and  the  margin  of  the  river.  Vance,  as  he  paced 
upon  and  down,  avoided  these  moonlit  spots,  keeping  in  the 
shadow,  as  if  anxious  to  escape  any  prying  eye  that  might 
be  about. 

Suddenly  a  low  whistle  smote  upon  his  ear  and  he  stopped 
and  listened.  It  was  repeated  and  then  he  answered  it. 
Almost  at  once  a  clump  of  bushes  parted  and  a  face  peered 
out.  It  was  a  beautiful  face — beautiful  always — most 
beautiful  as  it  peered  through  the  curtain  of  green  leaves, 
framed  in  the  masses  of  dark  golden  hair  of  that  hue  that 
artists  love  to  paint  upon  their  canvases  of  saints  and 
madonnas.  The  dark  olive  tint  of  its  complexion — the  heri- 
tage of  her  ancestors  who  had  lived  so  many  centuries  in 
sunny  Italy, — was  brightened  by  the  soft  purity  of  the 
moonlight  and  the  heavy  eyebrows  and  long  lashes  that 
shaded  her  eyes  made  them  seem  blacker  than  the  night 
shadows  under  the  trees.  She  looked  to  Vance  as  she 
sprung  from  the  bushes  more  like  the  apparition  of  an  angel 
than  like  a  flesh-and-blood  maiden. 


THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  Carita  mia,"  he  said  as  he  drew  her  close  to  him  and 
imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  low  broad  brow,  "  how  beautiful 
you  are  to-night  I " 

"  Do  you  think  so,"  she  said  smiling  up  at  him, "it  is  for 
joy  of  seeing  you  again." 

^  "Little  flatterer,"  he  answered  kissing  her  once  more, 
you  run  no  danger,  I  hope,  in  meeting  me  ?  " 
"No,  I  stole  away  after  they  were  all  in  bed.      Aunt 
Martha,  the  Squire  and  Ethel  were  fast  asleep  when  I  came 
away.     But  oh  that  horrid  dog-he  will  not  make  friends 
with  me— and  he  growled  at  me  as  I  stole  away  till  I  feared 
that  some  one  would  awaken." 

"  You  should  have  smiled  on  him,"  he  said,  "  for  you  are 
beautiful  enough  to-night  to  touch  the  heart  of  even  a 
brute.  But  you  have  the  powders  which  I  gave  you,  have 
you  not,  and  should  he  grow  troublesome  you  must  use 
them." 

"  I  have  them  still,  and  when  the  time  comes  he  must 
take  one.     But  you  sent  for  me  and  I  have  come." 

'  You  are  in  the  Squire's  house  and  you  have  made  use 
of  your  opportunities  ?  " 

"  I  have.     All  that  you  bade  me  do  I  have  done.     What 
is  there  for  me  to  do  next  ?  " 

"  You  must  return  now  to  New  York  " 

"For  good?" 

"  I  do  not  yet  know.     What  tale  did  you  tell  to  them  ?  " 

She  told  him  and  he  pondered  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
he  answered : 

I  leave  it  all  to  you,  but  leave  the  way  open  for  your 
return  in  case  that  should  be  necessary." 

"^  Can  you  not  tell  me  how  long  I  shall  stay  away  ?  " 
'  Not  longer  than  a  week,  by  that  time  I  shall  have  made 
my  plans  definitely." 
"It  is  well,  I  snail  do  as  you  bid  me.     And  now  be- 


ARTHUR  VAtfCE.  49 

fore  we  part  let  me  hear  you  say  once  again  that  you  love 
me." 

For  answer  he  clasped  her  tightly  in  his  arms.  "  I  love 
you,  little  one/'  he  murmured, — "I  love  you — a  thousand 
times  I  love  you.  I  love  you  more  than  you  love  me." 

"  That  cannot  be;  every  day  since  I  have  been  here  I  have 
looked  up  and  down  the  road  hoping  to  see  your  face.  Ah 
it  was  hard  to  wait  through  so  many  weary  months." 

"  Poor  little  Adele,"  he  murmured  as  he  watched  her 
steal  silently  homeward. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  silent  reverie  and  then  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "All  has  gone  well  so  far.  But  the  com- 
bination— how  can  I  get  the  combination." 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  his  own  mutterings  and  then 
rousing  himself  he  walked  swiftly  homeward. 


%    CHAPTEK  VIII. 

ARTHUR  VANCE. 

THE  next  morning  while  the  squire  was  in  the  Bank,  Jack 
Hillhouse,  the  tavern  keeper,  and  the  stranger  walked  into 
the  room. 

"  Morning  Squire,"  said  the  tavern  keeper;  "  this  is  Mr. 
Vance.  He's  abordin'  with  me  an  wants  ter  leave  a  little 
money  with  you  for  a  while.  I  tole  him  I  guessed  you'd 
'commodate  him." 

"Certainly,  sir,  certainly.  Pray  take  a  seat,"  said  the 
Squire;  then  raising  his  voice  he  called  aloud,  "Mr. 
Chester ! " 

"  Well,  seein'  as  I  ain't  no  further  use  I  guess  I'll  go. 
Mornin',  gentlemen,"  and  the  tavern  keeper  left  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Chester,"  said  the  Squire  raising  his  voice  and  ad- 


50  THE'fOMFRET  MYSTERY. 

dressing  the  cashier  in  the  outer  office,  "  this  is  Mr.  Vance, 
he  wishes  to  make  a  deposit." 

"How  much,  sir?" 

"  Five  hundred,"  said  Archie,  taking  out  a  pocket  book 
and  extracting  from  it  ten  fifty-dollar  bills. 

"  Step  this  way,  please,  sir,  and  sign  the  book.  Thank 
you,  sir.  Arthur  Vance,"  continued  the  cashier  reading 
what  was  written;  "  you  write  a  good  hand,  Mr.  Vance.  Take 
a  seat  for  a  minute  and  I'll  have  the  deposit  book  ready  for 
you." 

"You  come  from  New  York,  sir,  I  believe,"  said  the 
Squire. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  home,"  said  Vance  ;  "at  least  as  much 
home  as  I  have  anywhere.  But  I  have  neither  father  nor 
mother,  sister  nor  brother,  wife  nor  child.  I  have  been  a 
wanderer  all  my  days." 

"  You  paint,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  studied  many  years  abroad.  I  have  not 
been  much  in  my  own  country,  Squire,  and  I  have  often  felt 
ashamed  of  my  own  ignorance  of  it,  so  when  I  came  over 
this  time  I  thought  I  would  take  a  trip  through  New 
England;  and  in  my  wanderings  I  heard  of  Pomfret  and 
came  here.  I  am  delighted  with  what  I  have  seen  of  your 
town. " 

The  door  opened  and  Ethel  Leslie  came  in,  cloaked  and 
bonneted  for  a  drive. 

"Good  by,  papa,"  she  said.  "Mrs.  Moore  sent  for  me  to 
come  to  dinner  and  Benny's  waiting  at  the  gate  to  drive  me 
out." 

"  This  is  my  daughter,  Mr.  Vance." 

"  I  saw  Miss  Leslie  in  church  yesterday." 

"And  we  all  noticed  you  too.  We  are  still  countrified 
enough  to  take  note  of  strangers." 

"  Will  you  be  back  to  tea,  daughter?" 


ARTHUR  VAHCE.  §1 

"Yes,  papa.     Benny  will  drive  me  back." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  drop  in  to  tea/'  said 
the  Squire  to  Vance;  "  seven  o'clock,  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  I  assure  you.  Permit  me,  Miss 
Leslie,  to  hand  you  into  your  carriage." 

In  no  wise  reluctant  to  receive  the  polite  attention  of  the 
good-looking  stranger,  Ethel  Leslie  smiled  acquiescence,  and 
he  soon  assisted  her  into  the  light  buggy  and  tucked  the 
lap  robe  snugly  about  her. 

Benny  Moore  was  a  connoisseur  in  horse  flesh,  and  the 
gray  gelding  which  he  drove  struck  a  four-minute  gait  as 
soon  as  the  level  road  outside  the  town  was  reached.  Then 
relaxing  his  attention  to  his  horse  Benny  looked  around  at 
his  companion.  How  pretty  she  looked.  The  wind  had 
blown  her  jaunty  hat  a  little  back  from  her  forehead,  had 
freshened  the  bright  color  in  her  cheeks  and  had  brought 
a  merry  sparkle  into  her  eyes  and  a  smile  around  her  lips. 

"  This  is  splendid,  Benny,"  she  said,  noticing  his  glance  of 
admiration;  "  Duke  grows  faster  every  day." 

"  Who  was  he  who  helped  you  into  the  the  buggy?" 

"  Mr.  Vance.  Don't  you  think  he  is  handsome  ?" 

"  Well,  no;  I  don't  like  his  looks." 

Poor  Benny;  he  was  just  in  that  condition  of  mind  that 
perceives  in  every  unmarried  man  a  possible  rival. 

"  Nonsense,"  was  Ethel's  rejoinder,  "  you  haven't  really 
seen  him  yet.  He's  to  come  to  tea  to-night,  so  you'll  see  him. 
Because  you'll  stay  to  tea,  you  know,  after  you've  driven  me 
back." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  you  haven't  asked  me  before." 

"  Nonsense;  you  know  you  are  always  to  stay  when  you're 
in  town." 

Did  Ethel  really  know  that  Benny  loved  her  ?  Was  she 
really  willing  to  keep  him  near  her  as  long  as  possible,  or 


52  THE   fOMFKET  MYSTERY. 

was  she  simply  trying  her  power  over  the  young  fellow  as 
all  women  like  to  do  ?  Benny  would  have  given  much  to 
know. 

"  Where  have  I  seen  that  cashier  before/'  said  Vance  to 
himself  as  he  wandered  outside  the  town  by  the  river's  side 
that  afternoon.  "  It  is  not  like  me  to  forget  faces,  and  I 
have  a  notion  that  when  I  saw  him  1  fixed  him  in  my  memory 
to  be  remembered  again.  Pshaw  !  It  will  come  back  to  me 
presently.  Pretty  little  girl,  the  Squire's  daughter.  Wonder 
if  she's  engaged  to  that  young  fellow  in  the  buggy.  I've  a 
great  mind  to  make  up  to  her  myself.  If  she  would  marry 
me  we  could  settle  down  here  and  live  happily  and  I  would 
gradually  take  the  Squire's  place.  That  would  be  a  change 
indeed.  Some  of  my  friends  would  hardly  recognize  me  as 
a  bank-president."  He  seemed  to  be  much  amused  at  the 
idea  and  laughed  out  loud. 

All  that  afternoon  he  was  unusually  thoughtful,  seem- 
ing to  avoid  the  company  of  those  village  folk  whom  he 
met;  but  when  evening  came  he  remembered  his  engage- 
ment and  having  dressed  himself  carefully  he  walked  up  to 
the  Squire's  house  at  the  appointed  time. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  by  the  Squire's  fence  with  his 
hand  upon  the  latch  of  the  gate.  There  was  a  plan — only 
half  formed — in  his  mind,  and  he  was  trying  to  develop  it. 
He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  a  deep  and  savage  growl, 
and  starting  he  saw  in  the  path  before  him  a  dog,  with  his 
hairs  erect  and  bristling  with  anger. 

"  That  confounded  dog  ! "  he  exclaimed.    "  Here's  a  go." 

"  Gr-rr-rr-rr  ! "  growled  Eover,  showing  his  teeth  as  if  in 
anger. 

"  Good  doggie  !  Poor  fellow  ! "  Vance  exclaimed  as  he 
stepped  forward  keeping  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  animal. 

"  Gr-rr-rr-rr/'  growled  the  dog  again,  backing  away  from 
him. 


AETHUB  VANCE.  53 

"  The  idea  of  keeping  such  a  brute  as  that  about  the  house. 
He  must  be  got  rid  of  somehow.  He  is  too  discerning  a 
beast  to  live/'  Vance  thought  as  with  a  feeling  of  relief  he 
saw  the  front  door  open. 

"  Your  dog  is  not  hospitable  to  strangers,"  he  said  to  the 
Squire,  as  they  sat  in  the  parlor  later;  "  I  was  in  doubt 
whether  he  would  allow  me  to  accept  your  invitation  to  tea." 

"  He  used  to  be  very  kind,  but  of  late  he  seems  to  have 
changed.  We  have  a  servant  in  the  house  to  whom  he  will 
not  be  civil.  It  is  a  pity,  for  he  is  a  valuable  dog,"  the 
Squire  answered. 

"  He  has  so  many  tricks  too,"  Ethel  said,  "  and  will  fetch 
and  carry  to  any  store  in  the  village.  He  is  better  than  a 
boy  to  run  errands,  for  he  never  loiters." 

At  the  tea  table  Vance  rendered  himself  very  entertain- 
ing to  the  Squire  and  Ethel.  He  had  a  fund  of  anecdotes 
which  he  opened  for  their  amusement,  and  having  been  a 
great  traveler  could  talk  well  about  foreign  lands.  He  did 
not,  however,  get  along  so  well  with  Benny,  who  was  quite 
gruff  and  morose  and  evidently  ill  at  ease. 

"  If  you  don't  like  him,  Benny,"  Ethel  said  to  her  lover 
as  they  stood.,  later  in  the  evening,  at  the  front  gate,  "  that's 
no  reason  why  you  should  be  rude  to  him." 

"  Indeed,  Ethel,  I  could  not  help  it." 

"Couldn't  help  it!" 

"Indeed  I  couldn't,  Ethel"  he  pleaded.  "Oh,  Ethel, 
there's  something  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  this  long 
time  and  now  that  that  man  has  come  I  can't  be  silent  any 
longer.  Ethel,  I  love  you  !  that's  why  I  was  rude  to-night. 
Forgive  me." 

"  If  you  show  your  love  the  way  you  did  to-night  you  had 
better  keep  it  to  yourself,"  said  Ethel  crossly,  for  she  was 
really  very  angry  with  the  way  Benny  had  behaved.  "  When 
you  know  how  to  act  as  a  gentleman  should,  then  perhaps 
it  will  be  time  enough  to  talk  about  loving  me/' 


54  THE   POMFRET   MYSTEBY. 

"  Good  night,  Ethel."  That  was  all  he  said;  but  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  then  he  leaped  into  his 
buggy.  Ethel  looked  after  him  listening  until  the  sound 
of  his  horse's  hoof -beats  died  away  in  the  distance.  Perhaps 
there  was  in  her  heart  as  she  turned  back  to  the  house  some 
remorse  for  her  cruelty  to  him. 

"He  had  no  right  to  be  rude,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
perhaps  in  apology,  as  she  entered  the  porch  ;  "  still  I  am 
sorry  he  went  away  as  he  did;  but,  never  mind,  he  will  be 
back  to-morrow  all  right." 

Oh  woman  !  woman  !  Do  you  ever  know  the  worth  of  a 
man's  heart,  till  you  have  trampled  upon  it ! 

As  if  in  defiance  of  her  own  heart  Ethel  was  recklessly 
gay  the  rest  of  the  evening.  She  played  and  sang  and  then 
it  was  discovered  that  Vance  sang  too.  So  he  gave  them  a 
little  Erench  troubadour  song  set  to  English  words,  and 
afterwards  he  and  Ethel  sang  duets.  It  was  late— after 
eleven  o'clock— very  late  for  the  country  town,  when  Vance 
took  his  leave,  but  he  had  sketched  a  portrait  of  the  Squire 
for  Ethel  and  she  had  arranged  to  drive  him  six  miles  out 
of  town  to  a  cool  quiet  picturesque  glen  where  Israel  Putnam 
had  shot  the  wolf. 

"  Come  at  nine  o'clock,"  she  said,  as  Vance  left  the  Squire 
and  herself  at  the  door. 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  next  morning  when  Benny 
Moore  came  prepared  to  make  his  peace  with  his  mistress 
he  learnt  that  she  and  the  stranger  had  gone  off  on  a  long 
ride  together. 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  wait,  Benny,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  who 
opened  the  door  for  him;  "  they'll  be  back  at  two  o'clock." 

"  No  ! "  he  said,  kicking  the  door  mat  viciously;  "  I  didn't 
come  to  see  her  anyhow.  I  only  came  to  get  some  books." 

There  was  something  about  this  man,  whom  we  must  now 
call  Arthur  Vance,  which  Ethel's  pure  womanly  instincts 


AKTHUR   VANCE.  55 

intuitively  rebelled  against,  some  strain  in  his  soul  that  was 
antagonistic  to  her;  yet  she  found  it  impossible  to  resist  the 
charm  and  fascination  of  his  manner.  He  had  traveled 
apparently  in  most  of  the  foreign  countries.  He  had  learned 
painting  in  France,  singing  in  Italy;  once  he  had  even  been 
in  Turkey.  He  was  not  unacquainted  with  Mexico  and  the 
South  American  Republics.  He  had  a  fund  of  anecdotes,  a 
store  of  knowledge,  which  seemed  endless. 

It  could  hardly  he  expected  that  the  inexperienced  little 
country  girl  could  resist  the  fascinations  of  the  experienced 
and  talented  man  of  the  world;  nor  that  Benny,  uncultured 
in  the  ways  of  the  world,  should  be  able  to  stand  against  his 
rivalry.  Benny  was  handicapped  also  by  the  very  strength 
and  purity  of  his  passion. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  intention  of  the  stranger 
when  first  he  came  to  Pomfret  it  soon  became  evident  that 
now  he  stayed  on  in  the  hope  of  winning  Ethel  Leslie  as  his 
wife.  She  little  knew  the  meshes  that  were  twining  about 
her;  little  knew  that  every  act  and  word  of  hers  were 
watched  and  noted  by  one  whose  eyes  were  sharpened  by 
jealousy.  To  ordinary  observers  Adele  would  have  seemed 
engrossed  in  her  work,  but  those  of  sharper  insight  would 
have  seen  that  she  found  time  to  linger  near  the  room  where 
Vance  was  and  became  restless  while  he  was  in  Ethel's 
company.  He  himself  noticed  it  at  last  and  as  a  result  the 
meeting  in  the  Park  followed. 

Adele  made  some  excuse  to  go  away.  Her  mother 
was  ill  and  she  wished  again  to  implore  pardon  and  be  for- 
given. She  did  not  expect  to  be  gone  more  than  a  week  or 
at  the  utmost  a  fortnight — and  a  farmer's  daughter  from 
•the  country  could  do  her  work  while  she  was  away. 

Arthur  Vance  felt  relieved  when  she  had  gone  and  pressed 
his  suit  with  renewed  vigor. 

So  before  the  summer  ended  Ethel  Leslie  and  Arthur 


56  THE   POMFKET  MYSTEKY. 

Vance  were  engaged  to  be  married,  and  before  the  the  winter 
snows  fell  they  were  man  and  wife. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  Squire  consented  to 
the  marriage  before  he  knew  something  of  Vance's  ante- 
cedents. Not  at  all.  Vance  had  taken  him  to  New  York; 
had  introduced  him  to  friends  living  there  who  vouched  for 
his  respectability  and  wealth. 

"  I  hardly  know  any  one  in  this  country/'  Vance  had  said, 
"  I  have  been  so  long  a  wanderer.  And  only  a  few  of  my 
father's  old  friends  know  me.  But  I  will  take  you  to  them 
and  you  can  hear  what  they  have  to  say." 

And  the  Squire  had  gone  to  them  and  learned  nothing  but 
good  about  Vance. 

Benny  had  left  Pomfret  and  was  practicing  law  in  New 
York,  but  he  came  to  the  wedding.  His  heart  was  sick  and 
sore  with  wounded  love,  but  he  was  determined  that  he 
would  give  no  signs  of  his  anguish — that  his  demeanoi 
should  be  such  as  to  give  no  cause  of  remark  to  any  lookei 
on.  He  cared  not  if  Ethel  divined  it.  He  loved  her  so 
well  and  was  so  sure  of  his  own  rectitude,  that  he  always 
hoped  she  would  realize  what  bands  were  binding  down  his 
love.  But  during  the  weeks  that  elapsed  just  before  the 
marriage  he  was  graver  and  more  silent  than  usual,  sterner 
perhaps,  and  at  times  when  he  was  alone  his  face  assumed 
a  look  of  pathetic  sadness — his  heart  seemed  heavy.  He 
could  take  no  pleasure  in  anything  except  in  work,  in  that 
alone  could  he  forget  part  but  not  all  of  his  terrible  sorrow. 

There  are  times  in  men's  lives  when  sentiments  and 
affections  must  be  crushed  out  with  a  relentless  sternness. 
There  must  be  no  temporizing  nor  delaying,  no  hesitation 
nor  doubt.  But  if  their  sentiments  and  affections  are 
true  they  are  strong  and  deeply  rooted  and  the  tenderest 
susceptibilities  are  wrenched  and  sprained  in  the  process. 
The  struggle  must  be  fought  alone,  A  kind  word,  a  sym- 


ARTHUR  VANCE.  57 

pathetic  glance  are  all  the  aid  that  the  truest,  most  deep- 
seeing  friend  can  offer. 

Benny  underwent  this  terrible  struggle  with  his  love. 
He  could  not  drown  it,  nor  hide  it,  nor  burn  it.  To  starve 
it — to  give  it  no  food  of  word  or  glance  or  sigh  or  memories 
of  bygone  days,  not  even  a  crumb  of  vain  regret,  that  was 
the  way  that  the  battle  must  be  fought,  that  was  the  way 
in  which  the  surging  passion  of  his  love  must  be  brought 
into  the  calm  current  of  friendship.  And  Benny  set  him- 
self resolutely  to  the  task.  Many  a  time  he  wished  that  he 
could  die — but  death  never  comes  when  most  desired,  and 
suicide  he  looked  upon  as  cowardice. 

He  knew  that  the  wedding  cards  were  waiting  for  him  at 
his  room,  but  he  dreaded  to  go  and  get  them.  They  were 
in  his  eyes  the  warrant  that  doomed  his  love  to  death.  It 
was  not  until  a  few  days  before  the  wedding-day  that  he 
took  them  and  opened  them,  with  no  outward  tremor  but 
with  many  a  heartsick  feeling  in  his  soul. 

And  when  after  the  wedding  was  over  and  he  went  back 
to  his  father's  house  to  spend  the  night  he  sat  for  many 
hours  with  his  hands  covering  his  face  and  his  frame  trem- 
bling, the  hot  scalding  tears  dropping  slowly  through  his 
fingers.  It  was  the  relaxation  of  the  control  which  he  had 
set  upon  himself  during  the  day.  When  at  last  he  rose  and 
went  to  bed  he  felt  that  his  love  was  not  dead — it  could 
never  die,  but  it  had  been  molded  and  shaped  into  a  fervent 
pure  friendship. 

The  wedding  day  was  dark  and  murky,  and  the  rain  came 
down  in  showers  from  a  dull  leaden  sky.  The  roads  were 
muddy  and  drops  of  water  dripped  from  the  leaves  and 
from  every  twig  and  leaf.  But  Benny's  spirits  seemed  more 
buoyant  than  usual.  In  the  struggle  between  his  natural 
and  his  spiritual  nature,  it  was  the  natural  which  craved  aid 
.from  and  was  affected  by  nature;  and  the  gloom  of  the 


58  THE   POMFKET  MYSTEKT. 

weather  seemed  to  harmonize  with  and  subdue  into  a  dull 
lethargy  his  passionate  regretful  love,  while  his  spirit,  inde- 
pendent of  such  surroundings,  increased  in  power. 

Great  exertions  must  have  their  reactions,  and  Benny  that 
night  slept  the  sleep  of  the  weary. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

LALINE. 

MOORE  was  a  stranger  in  New  York,  and  his  prog- 
ress in  his  profession,  though  ultimately  rapid,  was  slow  at 
first.  He  had  much  leisure  time  upon  his  hands — time 
that  occasionally  he  was  much  perplexed  how  best  to 
employ.  He  could  not  read  dry  law  treatises  and  drier 
law  reports  all  the  while.  The  theater  he  had  no  fondness 
for  and  to  read  novels  he  considered  a  waste  of  time.  So 
he  turned  to  composition. 

His  stories  had  a  considerable  circulation — in  manuscript 
— none  of  them,  however,  saw  the  glory  of  print. 

He  was  unknown  in  literary  circles,  and  until  he  had 
achieved  a  reputation  no  editor  desired  his  contributions. 

One  story,  in  particular,  he  was  proud  of,  and  in  later 
years  he  would  sometimes  read  it  to  a  trusted  friend.  With 
all  its  faults  and  it  may  have  many — indeed  the  lurid  style  (a 
style  known  among  some  authors  as  the  "slop-over"  style) 
may  be  condemned — it  nevertheless  gives  an  insight  into  the 
chaotic  condition  into  which  Benny's  mind  had  been  thrown 
by  the  incidents  of  his  previous  years — an  illustration  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  imagination  ran  riot  after  the  severe 
repression  and  stern  discipline  of  the  law  studies — and  a 
record  of  his  life  in  these  years  would  be  incomplete  were 
it-  omitted,. 


LALLSTE.  59 

And  so  the  story  which  he  wrote  and  called  "  Laline," 
is  given  here  as  a  part  of  his  history. 

PART  I. 

Oh  how  I  loved  her.  Madly,  wildly,  passionately  !  I  loved 
as  man  never  loved  before  ! 

Even  in  the  days  of  my  childhood  my  whole  heart,  my 
whole  soul,  was  given  up  to  her.  Her  face  rose  before  me 
as  I  lay  wrapped  in  reverie  among  the  woods  in  summer 
days,  and  she  came  to  me  in  my  dreams  at  night.  I  was 
sad  when  she  seemed  sad  and  joyous  when  she  seemed  to 
smile. 

I  was  but  a  child  when  the  spell  was  first  cast  over  me. 
Twelve  quiet,  uneventful  years,  checkered  only  with  the 
joys  and  the  sharp  but  fleeting  sorrows  of  childhood — years 
that  lacked  all  appreciation  of  the  charm  of  romance  and 
the  excitement  of  tragedy — had  passed,  measuring  the  span 
of  my  life,  when  all  my  nature  was  convulsed  and  changed 
by  the  fascination  of  a  fierce,  blind  love.  Thenceforth  sun- 
shine and  shadow  had  a  new  meaning  for  me,  and  the  future 
ceased  to  be  a  name  and  became  a  reality  which  I  longed  to 
explore. 

Yet  the  image,  whose  enchantment  I  was  under  then, 
was  but  a  phantom  from  the  land  of  shadows — a  picture — 
the  portrait  of  a  fair  woman,  on  darkened  and  time-stained 
canvas. 

My  childish  days  had  been  barren  of  the  friendships  that 
usually  gladden  the  springtime  of  life.  I  was  an  orphan, 
living  alone  in  the  country,  with  two  maiden  aunts,  in  an 
old  homestead  that  had  been  in  the  family  for  generations. 
I  was  the  last  male  of  my  race.  The  well -tilled  fields-  about 
the  old  mansion  were  the  remnants  of  my  ancestral  fortune. 
But  in  our  poverty  we  were  very  proud,  for  the  Delameures 
had  been  a  famous  race  in  bygone  years  and  from  my  earlj- 


60  THE    POMFEET   MYSTEEY. 

est  days  I  had  heard  legends  of  their  former  grandeur.  In- 
stead of  the  usual  nursery  tales  my  mind  had  been  nurtured 
with  family  traditions,  and  I  learned  the  alphabet  from  a 
quaint  parchment  roll  that  set  forth,  with  heraldic  blazon- 
ings,  the  many  generations  of  the  Delameures. 

I  was  without  the  companionship  of  other  children,  for 
we  were  too  poor  to  entertain  visitors  and  I  was  not  allowed 
to  -associate  with  the  children  of  the  vicinage.  It  was  a 
bad  training  for  a  lad  who,  sooner  or  later,  must  go  forth 
into  the  wide  world  to  earn  his  own  living;  but  the  pride 
and  solicitude  of  my  aunts  could  not  bear  that  I  should  be 
reared  as  the  neighboring  children  of  coarser  fiber  were, 
and  the  charges  of  distant  schools  were  far  beyond  our 
humble  means. 

Living,  thus,  much  alone,  I  made  playmates  of  my 
thoughts  and  the  familiar  objects  in  and  around  the  house. 
I  peopled  certain  dark  corners  with  terrors,  and  thought 
that  the  fairies  had  their  home  amid  the  embers  of  the  fire 
that  glowed  on  the  hearth  in  winter  nights. 

Our  poverty  had  not  reached  that  depth  of  degradation 
that  the  relics  and  heirlooms  of  the  family  had  been  sold 
or  dispersed.  The  antique  silver  still  reposed  safely  in  the 
stone  vault  in  the  cellar,  whence,  twice  a  year,  it  was  taken 
and  cleaned;  the  ancient  eggshell  china  and  quaint  willow 
pattern  service  yet  stood  on  the  shelves  of  the  china  closet, 
and  the  family  portraits  still  hung  upon  the  walls.  We 
clung  to  these  relics  of  former  prosperity  with  a  supersti- 
tious reverence,  and  I  verily  believe  that  my  aunts  would 
have  died  sooner  than  part  with  one  article  of  this  super- 
fluous luxury. 

As  for  me,  in  those  childish  days,  I  valued  these  things 
but  little.  Far  more  important,  to  my  mind,  than  the  heir- 
looms of  silverware,  was  the  dark  vault  where  they  were 
kept.  All  the  hobgoblins  and  grim  specters  which  my 


lALWE.  61 

fancy  conjured  had  their  abiding  place  within  those  stone 
walls. 

Sometimes  at  night  I  dreamed  that  the  thick  oaken  doors 
of  the  vault  swung  open  mysteriously  and  that  there  rushed 
out  a  troop  of  grinning  goblin  faces  and  distorted  forms, 
which  swept,  in  ghostly  procession,  through  the  deserted 
corridors  of  the  house  and  clustered,  in  the  darkness,  around 
my  bed. 

The  antique  china  was  to  me  simply  something  which  I 
should  never  handle,  but  the  pictures  were  my  friends.  I 
knew  the  histories  of  all  the  dead  and  forgotten  Delameures 
whose  protraits  scowled  or  simpered  at  me  through  the  dark 
varnish  that  shrouded  their  canvases,  and  I  wandered  in 
imagination  through  the  landscapes  that  stretched  away  for 
indefinite  distances  behind  their  frames  of  tarnished  gilt. 

The  old  garret,  with  its  cobwebs  and  its  dust  and  its  in- 
valided and  discarded  furniture,  its  chests  full  of  ancient 
finery,  its  thousand  and  one  odds  and  ends  that  accumulate 
in  every  old  garret,  was,  for  me,  a  mine  of  the  richest 
treasures. 

It  was  in  this  dim,  cobwebby,  storehouse  of  the  past  that 
I  first  saw  the  face  of  the  woman  who  was  to  be  all  the 
world  to  me  ;  who  was  to  raise  me  to  Heaven  and  plunge 
me  into  Hell ;  who  was  to  torment  and  delight  me,  to 
soothe  and  wound  me,  to  give  me  life  and  then  to  lead  me 
to  a  bitter  unendurable  death. 

It  was  an  old  portrait  of  the  fairest  woman  that  ever  lived. 

I  dragged  it  forth  from  the  pile  of  lumber  where  it  had 
lain  for  years,  and  bearing  it,  as  best  I  could,  to  the  small- 
paned  gable  window  I  carefully  brushed  the  dust  from  its 
dim  canvas.  Out  of  the  dusky,  dark  background  a  face  of 
surpassing  loveliness  smiled  up  at  me.  Child  as  I  was,  I 
felt  the  wondrous  power  of  its  beauty.  Over  my  soul  swept 
a  wave  of  irresistible  passion,  and  I  fell  upon  my  knees  before 
it  in  frenzied  adoration. 


62  THE   POMFRET  MYSTE&Y. 

I  took  no  heed  of  the  flight  of  time  as  I  knelt  there 
wrapped  in  ardent  homage,  of  that  wondrous  face  ;  but  it 
was  dark  when  the  voice  of  Aunt  Margaret,  calling  my 
name,  roused  me  from  my  trance,  and,  with  a  strange  feel- 
ing of  exaltation  in  my  heart,  I  went  down  to  every-day 
commonplace  life. 

But  no  !  Life  was  never  again  to  be  commonplace  to  me. 
A  sentiment  had  been  awakened — a  spell  had  been  woven 
— that  held  my  heart  and  soul  subservient  to  their  enchant- 
ment, and  cast  a  glamour  over  every  act  and  thought. 

"  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  I,  as  I  sat  at  the  table  eating  the 
bread  and  milk  that  formed  my  evening  repast;  "Aunt 
Margaret,  who  is  the  lovely  lady  whose  portrait  is  upstairs 
in  the  garret  ?  " 

Aunt  Margaret  glanced  at  Aunt  Betsy  with  a  strange, 
scared  look,  and  hesitated  before  she  answered: 

"  What  portrait  do  you  mean,  Percy?" 

"  A  portrait  that  I  found  in  the  garret— a  portrait  of  a 
lady— oh  so  beautiful !  With  long  yellow  hair  streaming 
down  her  back,  and  beautiful,  great,  blue  eyes." 

The  fair  face,  in  all  its  loveliness,  rose  before  my  imagina- 
tion as  I  spoke. 

"  It  is  Laline  1 "  said  Aunt  Betsy,  in  hushed,  awestruck 
tones — more  to  Aunt  Margaret  than  to  me.  "  He  has  seen 
Laline  ! " 

"  Who  is  Laline  ?  "  I  asked,  glancing  with  a  vague,  intui- 
tive alarm  in  the  ashen  faces  of  the  old  aunts.  Aunt  Martha 
answered,  with  trembling  lips  and  faltering  voice  : 

"  Laline  was  an  ancestress  of  ours,  Percy,  in  the  days  when 
the  Delameures  were  a  noble  family  of  France.  It  is  her  por- 
trait that  you  have  found.  There  was  another  Laline,  one 
hundred  years  ago,  so  like  the  first  Laline  in  form  and  face 
that  the  same  painting  served  as  a  likeness  of  them  both. 
When  you  are  twenty-one  years  old  you  will  be  told  more 
about  her. " 


LALIKE.  63 

I  dreamt  of  the  face  that  night — it  was  never  absent  from 
my  mind  from  the  time  that  my  eyes  closed  until  they 
opened  again  in  the  morning.  But,  when  I  went  to  the 
garret  again,  the  portrait  was  gone. 

I  rushed  down  stairs  with  a  heart  filled  with  anguish,  and 
implored  Aunt  Margaret  to  tell  me  what  had  been  done  with 
it.  She  had  not  intended  to  disclose  its  hiding  place  to  me, 
but  my  evident  distress  shook  her  resolution,  and  she  in- 
formed me  that  it  had  been  put  for  safe  keeping  in  the 
vault  where  the  silver  was  stored. 

They  thought  I  cried  because  I  could  not  see  the  picture 
— that  I  was  a  child  lamenting  a  lost  plaything — but  my 
tears  were  not  shed  for  these  reasons.  I  wept  because  a 
wild,  terrible  despair  came  over  me  at  the  thought  of  that 
fair  image  locked  up  among  the  execrable  horrors  with 
which  I  had  peopled  the  vault. 

I  rushed  from  the  house  and  sought  the  shelter  of  the 
warm,  fragrant  hay  in  the  mow  of  the  barn.  It  was  my 
favorite  refuge  when  childish  misfortunes  came,  and  many 
a  tribulation  had  I  sobbed  over  there,  until  the  perfume  of 
the  odorous  hay,  the  cooing  of  the  pigeons  on  the  rafters 
overhead,  the  "twit-twit/'  of  swallows  flying  in  and  out 
,  through  holes  under  the  caves,  had  beguiled  the  current  of 
my  thoughts  and  I  had  grown  gay  again.  But  to-day  a 
thick  shadow  of  woe  had  settled  over  me  which  the  cooing 
of  the  pigeons  and  the  "twit-twit"  of  the  swallows  were 
powerless  to  dispel.  The  brightness  had  gone  out  of  my 
life,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  never  be  happy  again. 

I  stole  unseen  into  the  cellar  and  lay  down  on  the  hard, 
damp  floor  before  the  doors  of  the  vault.  My  tears  ran  fast, 
but  my  moans  were  hushed,  for  I  feared  to  be  discovered.  I 
whispered  words  of  love— ^-of  passionate  sympathy — with  my 
lips  close  to  the  damp  iron-bound  doors  as  if  my  voice  could 
penetrate  the  thick,  oaken  planks  into  the  dark  hollow 
beyond. 


64  THE   FOMFfcET  It? STERY. 

I  was  delirious  with  passionate  despair.  I  could  not  eat 
nor  sleep,  and  at  last  they  were  forced  to  unlock  the  doors 
and  bring  forth  the  precious  portrait.  Then  I  was  mad 
with  joy,  and  I  knelt  before  it  and  kissed  its  lips  again  and 
again  in  the  frenzy  of  passion.  I  was  bewitched — I  was 
not  a  simple  child — I  was  a  creature  mad  with  the  spells  of 
an  overpowering,  resistless  enchantment. 

At  last,  when  the  ecstatic  paroxysm  of  my  joy  was  over,  I 
let  them  bring  the  portrait  upstairs  into  the  hall.  They 
placed  it  where  the  light  fell  full  upon  it  and  then,  Aunt 
Margaret,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  said: 

"  See,  Percy,  there  is  no  picture  here — nothing  but  a  dark 
expanse  broken  by  shadows.  There  is  no  face." 

I  stared  up  into  Aunt  Martha's  face  in  amazement.  "  No 
face  ! "  when  the  soft  eyes  were  beaming  brighter  than  ever 
into  mine  and  the  rosy  lips  seemed  to  be  breaking  into  a 
smile  as  the  sunlight  played  over  them. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Margaret,  how  can  you  say  that/'  I  cried — 
and  I  bent  down  over  the  portrait  and  with  my  finger 
reverently  traced  the  outlines  of  the  face 

"See!"  I  exclaimed,  "here  are  the  eyes,  here  is  the 
yellow  hair,  here  is  the  mouth ' ' — and  as  I  touched  the  red, 
smiling  lips  they  seemed  to  press  against  my  finger  tips  in  a 
warm  loving  kiss — "  here  is  the  curve  of  the  cheek.  How 
can  you  say  that  there  is  no  face  here  ! " 

But  my  words  were  all  in  vain.  No  one  but  me  could 
discern  the  wonderful  face.  It  was  mine — mine  alone — and 
I  loved  it  more  earnestly,  more  passionately,  more  despair- 
ingly than  ever. 

I  look  back  on  those  days  with  a  strange  surprise.  I 
wonder  if  I  was  not,  in  truth,  mad  !  In  all  things  save  one 
I  was  a  child,  but  in  that  one — in  my  love — I  was  a  man — 
nay  more  than  a  man  !  I  was  a  god — for  humanity  could 
not  fathom  the  depths  of  the  seething  fires  of  passion  that 
burned  within  me. 


LALINE.  <J5 

It  was  in  vain  that  my  aunts  strove  to  disillusion  me  by 
repeated  assertions  that  the  picture  was  but  a  blank — that 
no  face  nor  features  could  be  traced  upon  its  blackened 
canvas — that  I  was  worshiping  a  creature  of  my  fancy,  a 
phantasm  of  my  brain.  I  could  not  be  convinced.  My 
reason  could  not  resist  the  spell  cast  upon  it.  My  heart 
could  not  renounce  the  idol  before  which  it  had  prostrated 
itself. 

PART    II. 

So  the  years  of  childhood  passed  away  and  I  came  to 
man's  estate — but  manhood  brought  me  no  relief.  At  night 
and  at  day  there  came  before  me  the  vision  of  that  phantom 
from  the  land  of  shadows,  growing  more  fair,  more  tran- 
scendentally  beautiful  as  the  years  passed  by,  and  tinging 
the  deepest  depths  of  my  nature  with  a  weird,  mingled 
melancholy  and  joy. 

I  was  twenty-one.  The  time  had  come  when  I  must  put 
childish  things  away  and  be  a  man.  I  must  go  out  into  the 
world  and  begin  the  great  battle  of  life.  I  must  put  the 
past  behind  me  and  live  for  the  future.  I  was  twenty- 
one. 

Time,  which  in  its  flight  had  measured  out  to  me  a 
generous  proportion  of  inches  of  height  and  girth,  had  dealt 
lightly  with  my  maiden  aunts.  Their  forms  were  perhaps 
a  trifle  less  erect  than  they  had  been  in  the  year  when  I  had 
found  the  fair  face  that  I  loved  among  the  lumber  in  the 
garret;  their  hair  perhaps  a  trifle  more  silvery  white,  their 
steps  less  firm  and  sure  ;  but  their  love  had  undergone  no 
change.  They  loved  me  as  women  love  the  one  sole  creature 
given  them  to  love — yet  what  was  their  love  for  me  com- 
pared with  mine  for  that  fair  face  with  the  beaming  eyes, 
the  flowing  yellow  hair  and  the  rosy  lips. 

I  was  twenty-one,  and  among  the  events  which  the  day 
3 


66  THE   KJMfRKf  MYSTERY. 

brought  in  its  train  was  the  disclosure  to  me  of  the  family 
tradition  of  Laline. 

I  have  said  that  the  Delameures  were  a  proud  race  and 
an  ancient,  but  before  this  day  I  had  not  known  that  we 
traced  our  race  far  back  to  the  days  before  the  Caesarian 
legions  conquered  the  theretofore  untamed  Gaulic  tribes — 
the  fierce,  wild  days  when  France  was  but  a  wilderness 
peopled  by  savage  bands.  We  were  a  noble  race  then,  as 
we  have  been  since,  furnishing  warriors  and  priests,  and 
knowing  vicissitudes  and  prosperities  that  alternate  in  every 
ancient  family;  but  from  the  earliest  time  the  race  had 
never  been  extinct.  Time  and  time  again  the  male  lino 
had  contracted  into  one  sole  representative — even  as  it  had 
now,  when  I,  in  the  whole  world,  was  the  sole  heritor  of  my 
ancestors — but  as  often  had  that  one  man  stemmed  the  ad- 
verse tide  of  fortune  and  given  new  life  and  vigor  to  the 
family. 

Now,  when  I  was  twenty-one,  the  old  documents  that  told 
the  tale  of  past  triumphs  and  past  decadence  were  put  into 
my  hands  and  I  was  bidden  to  read  them  through. 

I  had  partitioned  off  a  part  of  the  old  garret — the  part 
where  I,  years  before,  had  found  the  picture — as  a  sitting 
room,  sacred  to  myself,  and  had  equipped  it  with  such  fur- 
niture as  I  could  find  among  the  lumber  of  the  house.  I 
had  hung  the  portrait  on  the  wall  where  the  light  through 
the  narrow  window  shone  full  upon  it,  and  here  I  had 
come,  to  study  or  to  dream  as  the  mood  was  upon  me;  tell- 
ing my  sorrows  and  my  joys,  my  hopes,  my  aspirations  and  my 
fears,  to  the  sweet  face  that  looked  so  sympathizingly  down 
upon  me.  Here  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day  of  my  birth, 
I  brought  the  ancient  package  that  was  to  tell  me  the  secret 
history  of  my  race,  and  sitting  down  beside  the  portrait,  as 
one  might  sit  by  the  side  of  a  loved  and  trusted  friend,  I 
opened  the  yellow  folds  and  my  eyes  traced  the  quaint  letter- 
ing on  the  parchments. 


LALINE.  67 

It  was  a  calm,  clear  morning.  The  sun  had  not  yet 
reached  the  zenith,  and  his  beams  cast  a  flood  of  light  over 
the  familiar  objects  surrounding  me.  I  smelt  the  perfume 
of  the  budding  floAvers,  the  odors  of  the  growing  clover  in 
the  fields;  I  heard  the  buzzing  of  the  bees  as  they  flew 
hither  and  thither  among  the  vines  that  clambered  over  the 
piazza  below.  There  were  dark  clouds  on  the  horizon,  but 
my  senses  took  no  note  of  them.  I  was  engrossed  in  the 
old  manuscripts  that  were  spread  open  before  me. 

The  tale  began  with  a  short  sketch  of  the  narrator's  life 
and  closed  with  a  curse  upon  such  of  his  descendants  as 
should  neglect  the  warning  of  the  narrative;  but  between 
the  opening  and  the  closing  was  a  tale  that  sent  my  blood 
leaping  through  my  veins  in  wild  pulsations  of  joy  and 
then  in  alternation  filled  me  with  dire  dread  and  terror. 

It  was  written  in  a  clear  hand,  in  ancient  French,  and  I 
knew  then  why  I  had  been  so  carefully  trained  in  that  lan- 
guage foreign  to  our  own  English  tongue. 

It  was  a  Sunday  morning,  that  morning  of  my  twenty- 
first  birthday,  and  all  the  household  save  myself  had  gone 
to  church,  while  I  was  left  alone  to  study  these  records  of 
dead  and  gone  progenitors.  I  heard  the  chime  of  the  church 
bells  mellowed  into  faintness  by  the  intervening  distance  as 
I  broke  the  seals  and  untied  the  faded  strings  that  bound 
the  parchment  sheets  together.  The  old  unbelief  of  my 
savage  ancestry  must  have  come  back  to  me  at  that  hour,  for 
well  I  remember  that,  as  the  far-off  bells  fell  upon  my  ear, 
I  rose  and  kissed  the  lips  of  the  portrait  as  if  to  evince  by 
my  actions  the  feeling  in  my  heart  that  the  fair  creature 
within  the  tarnished  picture-frame  was  all  the  God  or  re- 
ligion that  I  cared  for  or  worshiped. 

I  read  on ;  and  soon  my  thoughts  lost  all  appreciation  of 
the  present  and  were  engrossed  with  the  narrative  before 
me.  I  read  how  Dagobert  De  L'Armeure  had  found  him- 


68  THE    rOMFKET   MYSTERY. 

self  homeless  and  kinless;  and  how,  in  the  pride  and  despair 
of  his  heart,  he  had  sought  the  last  survivor  of  the  ancient 
Druid  priests  and,  with  unholy  rites  and  incantations,  vowed 
a  strange  and  cruel  vow,  whereby  he  and  his  descendants, 
on  whom  the  continuation  of  the  race  depended,  were  ever 
to  renew  the  glory  of  the  race  and  were  doomed  to  pay 
therefor  by  an  awful,  terrible  death.  And  fortune  came 
ever  in  the  guise  of  a  fair  woman — whom  men  called  Laline 
— and  who  bore  children  and  brought  wealth,  and  at  whose 
hand  the  devoted  scion  of  the  race  would  suffer  death. 

A  fearful  picture,  full  of  suggestive  terror  rose  before  my 
shuddering  fancy  as  I  spelled  out  the  almost  illegible  manu- 
script. 

I  seemed  to  be  in  imagination  a  spectator  at  the  awful 
scene.  The  room  faded  from  my  consciousness.  In  place 
of  the  rafters  of  the  roof,  the  brown,  gnarled  branches  of  .v 
oaks  stretched  over  my  head.  Instead  of  the  wooden  floor 
my  feet  rested  upon  the  soft,  green  moss  of  the  forest.  The 
walls  vanished  and  I  saw  the  leafy  aisles  of  the  woods, 
stretching  away  until  they  were  lost  in  the  indefinite  dis- 
tance. 

It  was  night,  but  the  full  moon  shed  a  flood  of  silver  light 
over  the  earth  by  which  I  hastily  discerned  these  things, 
while  my  attention  centered  on  a  group  about  a  fire  that 
blazed  under  the  branches  of  a  gigantic  oak-tree. 

An  old  man,  a  priest,  with  long,  white  flowing  hair  and 
beard,  and  clad  in  loose,  fantastic  garments,  held  aloft  in 
one  hand  a  golden  knife  and  in  the  other  a  branch  of  mistle- 
toe which  he  had  just  lopped  from  its  parent  stem.  Behind 
him  were  two  white  bulls  held  fast  by  fierce  and  unkempt 
savage  men.  On  one  side  was  a  knight,  partly  clad  in 
armor,  but  unhelmeted.  Before  him  lay  the  figure  of  a 
child,  bound  with  green  withes  and  leathern  thongs.  The 
lurid  flames  of  the  fire  threw  a  crimson  glow  over  all. 


LALINE.  69 

Helpless,  motionless,  palsied  with  terror,  I  stood,  an  un- 
seen witness  of  the  frightful  spectacle.  I  watched  the  priest 
plunge  the  golden  knife  into  the  body  of  the  child.  The 
victim's  despairing,  agonized  death-shriek  rang  in  my  ears 
while  I  saw  his  yet  pulsing  heart  torn  from  his  body.  I 
saw  the  white  bulls  slaughtered  by  the  golden  knife  ;  and 
I  heard  the  priest  utter  strange  words  and  incantations  as 
he  mixed  the  smoking  blood  of  the  human  victim  and  the 
red  fluid  from  the  veins  of  the  groaning  beasts  with  shrec  3 
of  the  mistletoe  and  leaves  of  other  plants. 

Then  there  was  brought  forth  into  the  scene  something 
that  had  escaped  my  notice  previously — an  osier  basket  filled 
with  the  writhing,  tangled  forms  of  squirming  snakes. 
Their  sinuous  bodies  writhed  and  twisted  in  convulsive 
agonies  as  they  fought  a  deadly  battle  within  the  narrow 
confines  of  their  cage.  Their  open  gorges  were  red  and 
bloody,  their  eyes  scintillated  with  hate  and  fury.  The 
froth  from  their  venomous  jaws  and  the  slime  from  their 
distorted  bodies  were  churned  into  a  foam  by  their  ceaseless 
motions.  Suddenly,  from  the  writhing  mass,  there  sprung 
a  white,  oval  object;  and,  as  it  rose  into  the  air,  I  saw  the 
priest  seize  it  and  plunge  it  into  the  hellish  mixture  which 
he  had  brewed. 

Then,  without  warning,  the  flames  of  the  fire  died  down; 
thick  clouds  scurried  across  the  face  of  the  moon;  a  deep, 
moaning  sound  that  seemed  to  be  resonant  with  inarticulate 
words  swept  through  the  forest  as  if  the  oaks  had  found 
voice  and  were  muttering  enchantments.  As  the  light  faded 
and  grew  dim  I  saw  the  knight  drink  off  the  devilish  potion. 

Then  all  was  dark  again.  And  then,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  I  found  myself  sitting  in  my  familiar  room,  with  the 
yellow  parchment  spread  open  before  me. 

I  read  on. 

I  read  how  Jean  De  L'Armeure,  reading,  as  I  now  read, 


70  THE    POMFEET  MYSTEET. 

on  the  morning  of  his  twenty-first  birthday,  the  dire  destiny 
that  hung  over  him,  had  fled  from  the  pleasures  of  the  world 
and  sought  a  refuge  in  a  holy  monastery.  But  the  rites  of 
the  Church  had  been  powerless  to  break  the  spell  of  the 
ancient  enchantment.  The  fair  woman — Laline — came  and 
claimed  her  victim.  The  race  of  the  De  L'Armeures  flour- 
ished again  and  he  died  with  all  the  agonies  of  a  lost  soul. 

I  read  how  a  second  Jean,  dreading  the  awful  fate  that 
threatened  him,  had  fled  from  the  fair  land  of  France  to  the 
unsettled  wilds  of  America;  but  the  spell  had  followed  him 
across  the  sea  and  the  doom  had  fallen  upon  him. 

And  I  knew  then,  that  I,  the  sole  survivor  of  the  Dela- 
meures,  in  direct  male  descent,  would  find  my  destiny  ready 
made  for  me. 

The  fair,  summer  morning  had  passed  while  I  was  study- 
ing over  the  ancient  parchments,  but  I  sat  with  my  head 
bent  down,  the  yellow  sheets  clutched  fast  in  my  hand  and 
my  mind  wrapped  in  a  bitter  rebellious  reverie  at  the  fore- 
ordination  of  my  fate. 

Suddenly  a  loud  thunder  peal  aroused  me.  To  my  ex- 
cited imagination  it  seemed  like  a  demoniac  trumpet-peal 
heralding  the  advent  of  my  horrible  doom. 

I  started  to  my  feet;  and  as  I  did  so,  I  felt  the  old  house 
quiver  under  the  sudden  downpour  of  the  rain  and  the 
fierce  gusts  of  the  storm  wind.  I  trembled  with  terror  and 
with  awe  as  the  darkness  deepened,  until  in  the  glare  of  a 
sharp,  quick  flash  of  lightning  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  por- 
trait on  the  wall  and  I  saw  the  fair  face,  instinct  with  life, 
smiling  upon  me.  In  an  instant  all  my  terror  and  agony 
came  upon  me  with  redoubled  vehemence.  I  threw  myself 
prostrato  before  the  picture,  as  the  heathen  grovels  before 
his  idol,  and  poured  out  a  torrent  of  wild,  hot,  passionate 
love  such  as  man  never  spake  before. 

The  darkness  deepened  as  I  lay  there.     The  wind  seemed 


LALINE.  71 

to  be  laden  with  articulate  words  in  an  unoouth  and  bar- 
barous tongue,  as  if  some  malignant  power  of  the  air — some 
evil  spirit  of  the  storm — was  muttering  spells  and  weaving 
enchantments  about  me.  My  words  came  wilder,  faster, 
more  passionately  from  my  lips,  as  lifting  up  my  arms 
towards  the  place  where  I  knew  the  picture  was,  I  pleaded, 
more  earnestly  than  erer  man  pled  for  life,  with  the  fair 
face  to  succor  me.  I  know  not  what  words  I  said.  I  was 
frenzied  with  love  and  fear.  But  in  my  anguish  my  voice 
rose  in  volume  and  intensity — I  called  aloud,  until  the  old 
house  re-echoed,  above  the  noise  of  the  storm,  with  my  wild 
prayers  and  adjurations. 

In  the  quick,  sharp  glitter  of  the  lightning  flashes,  that 
momentarily  split  the  darkness  asunder  with  synchronous 
thunder-peal,  I  beheld  changing  emotions  flit  over  the  fair 
face  on  the  canvas,  as  if  my  wild  words  were  awaking  the 
slumbering  chords  of  life  in  the  breast  of  the  fair  spirit 
which  I  was  conjuring. 

Suddenly,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  noise  of  the  tempest 
died  away  in  the  distance  and  I  heard  the  soft,  faint  strains 
of  far-off  music  blending  with  the  dying  tumult  of  the 
storm,  tremulous  with  the  patter  of  raindrops,  quivering 
with  the  dying  sobs  of  the  wind,  thrilling  with  the  harmo- 
nies of  reviving  Nature,  rising  and  falling  in  undulating 
waves  of  sound,  as  if  celestial  melodies  were  sweeping  clown, 
from  the  immeasurable  space  of  heaven,  to  the  earth. 

The  lessening  gloom  dimly  disclosed  the  shadowy  forms 
of  the  familiar  objects  in  the  room,  but  my  eyes  were  rivetted, 
in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  on  the  canvas  of  the  picture — 
for  the  fair  face  had  faded  away  and  a  dull  black  expanse 
only  met  my  eager  gaze.  I  had  been  buoyant  with  blissful 
expectation,  born  of  the  celestial  harmonies,  but  now  my 
heart  sank  with  an  utter  abandonment  of  hope  as  the  thought 
burned  into  my  brain  that  I  had  lost  all  that  had  made  life 
desirable. 


73  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

I  turned  away  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  but  halted  as 
it  changed  to  stone  at  the  sight  which  fell  upon  my  eyes. 
A  woman  divinely  fair  stood  in  the  glare  of  the  golden  sun- 
light that  streamed  through  the  window.  Motionless  as 
I  was,  with  scarce  a  pulsation  of  my  heart,  with  my  very 
breathing  checked,  I  nevertheless  noted  every  detail  of  her 
face  and  figure.  She  stood  with  the  golden  sunbeams  fall- 
ing caressingly  about  her,  while  through  the  window  I  could 
see  the  horizon  of  dark  clouds  broken  by  the  glinting  streaks 
of  jagged  lightning  flashes,  the  celadon  sky  framed  with 
the  iridescent  arch  of  the  rainbow.  She  stood  gazing  at  me 
with  a  look  of  ineffable  tenderness;  her  rosy  lips  parted  with 
a  loving  smile;  her  blue  eyes  still  moist  and  glistening  with 
tears  of  sympathy  for  my  suffering;  her  long  yellow  hair 
falling  about  her  form  and  tremulous  Avith  the  gentle  undu- 
lations of  her  breast,  as  if  the  sunbeams,  which  it  rivaled 
in  hue,  were  entangled  there  and  were  gently  stirring  it  in 
their  endeavors  to  get  free. 

She  was  the  vision  that  had  come  to  me  in  my  dreams, 
the  face  that  had  looked  at  me,  and  me  only,  out  of  the  dull 
canvas  of  the  old  painting;  but  no  longer  a  phantom  of 
sight  or  mind,  but  flesh  and  blood,  fairer  than  painter's 
brush  might  paint  or  mind  imagine. 

She  came  to  my  side  as  I  stood  spell-bound  at  her  loveli- 
ness, and  said  to  me  in  low,  soft  tones  of  incomparable 
sweetness: 

"  See  what  your  love  has  done.  It  has  brought  me  to 
your  side.  You  need  no  longer  waste  your  heart  upon  a 
shadow.  "We  will  go  out  into  the  world  together — you  and  I 
—we  will  go  where  it  is  always  sunshine  and  where  clouds 
never  come." 

I  could  not  speak — my  heart  was  too  fall  of  joy  for  utter- 
ance, as  hand  in  hand  we  passed  out  of  the  house  and  walked 
away  over  the  green,  moist  fields,  with  the  gentle  breeze 


LALIUE.  78 

dropping  about  us  the  odors  which  it  had  winnowed  from 
bush,  and  bud,  and  flower. 

PART  III. 

The  memory  of  that  journey  is  like  a  dream  to  me.  I  was 
in  a  trance  of  ecstatic  bliss.  The  warm  touch  of  that  soft 
hand  clasped  in  mine,  with  every  pulsation  thrilled  me 
anew  with  a  strange  exaltation.  I  remember  that  the 
landscape  flew  by  like  the  vision  of  a  dream — that  the 
flowers  had  never  seemed  as  fair — the  sky  never  so  blue — 
the  wind,  never  so  odorous — that  the  birds  sang  more  sweetly 
than  birds  ever  sang  before — that  I  had  no  thought  for  aught 
else  than  the  ineffable  joy  which  filled  my  soul  Avith  ecstacy 
— that  my  feet  seemed  to  be  winged — that  I  was  a  creature 
of  Heaven  and  not  of  earth. 

Then  there  is  a  space  that  memory  fills  only  with  the 
rapture  of  the  immensity  of  my  love. 

Then,  I  remember,  I  was  a  rich  man  in  a  great  city,  and 
that  Laline — the  fair  creature  that  my  love  had  created — 
that  my  adoration  had  brought  to  life — was  my  wife. 

Yes,  the  intermediary  time  is  a  blank  to  me  !  As  I  look 
back  at  it,  it  seems  to  be  an  interval,  filled  with  the  bright- 
est gleamings  of  sunlight,  with  colors  rich  as  those  with 
which  the  rainbow  curves  the  sky,  tuneful  with  the  sweetest 
harmonies,  glorious  with  all  that  is  fair  and  beautiful — but 
it  is  indefinite  and  indistinct.  Its  days  are  shrouded  by  a 
golden  radiant  mist,  which,  as  I  strive  to  recall  them  to 
mind,  makes  my  pulses  leap,  my  heart  sing,  and  the  blood 
bound  quicker  through  my  veins. 

That  time  seems  to  me  like  a  dream — and  yet,  more 
real  than  a  dream,  for  I  realize  that  I  have  lived  through 
it;  that  it  has  been  an  actuality  of  my  life;  that  the  vague- 
ness that  hangs  over  it  is  but  the  outcome  of  excessive  joy,  that 


74  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

my  mind  basked  blindly  and  automatically  in  the  joy  which 
it  could  not  analyze  nor  define. 

Fortune  smiled  on  me.  Every  venture  that  I  entered 
into  succeeded.  Gradually  I  began  to  accumulate  vast 
riches.  Yet  throughout  those  years  of  my  life,  I  realized 
— vaguely — intuitivley — that  a  power,  stronger  than  my  own 
will,  was  guiding  me.  I  was  the  blind  instrument  of  its 
decrees.  I  was  powerless  to  resist  what  it  ordained. 

It  was  in  my  home-life  that  I  realized  most  acutely  the 
total  annihilation  of  myself.  Those  days  of  overwhelming 
bliss  seem  now  to  me,  as  I  look  back  at  them,  unreal  in  the 
intensity  of  their  actualities  of  happiness.  Laline— the 
wondrous  woman — the  impersonification  of  indescribable 
loveliness— the  embodiment  of  all  that  is  beautiful  in 
humanity — Lalino  was  by  my  side  ! 

Wealth  came  to  me  without  my  exerting  even  an  effort 
of  will  to  acquire  it,  but  while  Laline  bore  me  her  company 
I  had  no  wish  for  aught  else  save  her  presence. 

I  had  loved  the  fair  face  of  the  portrait  with  a  passion 
that  words  cannot  describe,  but  I  loved  the  living  woman 
with  an  intensity  that  was  immeasurable,  with  a  fervor 
that  my  soul  could  not  define. 

Ah,  wo  were  happy — happy  beyond  the  expression  of 
words— in  those  days.  Children  then  were  born  to  us — 
children  that  sickness  seemed  powerless  to  harm.  The 
wealth  that  was  to  be  their  inheritance  flowed  in  upon  us 
in  a  steady  stream. 

So  the  years  passed— all  too  quickly— without  a  cloud  to 
mar  the  brightness  of  our  happiness  or  to  cast  a  shadow  over 
our  bliss.  They  were  happy  years  and  left  but  slender 
records.  Grief  and  despair  may  be  defined  in  words,  but 
language  is  too  weak  to  paint  the  feverish  ecstasy  of  joy. 

Years  passed  and  I  grew  old;  but  time  was  powerless  to 
deteriorate  the  wondrous  beauty  of  Laline,  or  to  lessen  the 


LALIXE.  75 

passionate  admiration  with  which  my  heart  prostrated  itself 
before  her.  Years  passad;  but  they  were  so  many  chains 
linking  me  firmer  to  the  fair  woman  who  had  taken  rny 
heart  from  me  years  ago — who  never  changed  except  to 
grow  more  lovely. 

Half  of  love's  sweetness  is  the  pain  it  brings — yet  Laline 
had  brought  me  never  a  sensation  of  distress.  Half  of  love's 
pain  comes  from  the  haunting  fear  that  the  future  may  rob 
us  of  our  happiness — and  yet  the  future  was  never  in  my 
thoughts.  The  pres3nt  was  too  full  of  joy  for  me  to  past 
beyond  it.  My  love  seemed  like  eternity,  no  present,  past 
nor  future  could  bound  its  immensity — the  sun  of  happi- 
ness could  never  set  upon  it — the  sweetness  of  summer 
could  never  depart  from  it ! 

So  the  years  passed  and  I  grew  old.  I  was  rich  and  the 
Delameure  name  was  famous  again. 

Then  Laline  expressed  a  wish  to  visit  with  me  those 
ancient  lands  in  France,  which  in  years  gone  by  had  ac- 
knowledged the  sway  of  the  Delameures.  How  could  I 
deny  her — I  who  hung  upon  her  every  breath — whose  heart 
leaped  with  ecstatic  joy  at  her  smile — whose  lips  quivered 
and  whose  eyes  grew  moist  if  she  were  grave — how  could  I 
deny  her  the  fulfillment  of  her  wish  ?  She  should  go  abroad 
as  queens,  in  olden  time,  went  to  their  feudatories.  Wealth 
should  surround  her  with  all  the  pomp  that  rank  had  com- 
manded in  past  epochs.  Her  journey  should  be  a  triumphal 
progress  of  the  Delameures  to  the  laud  of  their  ancestors. 
She  should  become  more  famous  than  woman  ever  was 
before.  The  nations  of  the  old  world  should  see  her  tran- 
scendent beauty  and  worship  her,  even  as  I  did. 

But  when  I  voiced  my  aspirations  she  said  them  nay. 
We  would  go  alone,  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  with  her 
radiant  smile;  we  would  go  alone — she  and  I — the  love 
which  had  waked  her  into  life  would  be  sufficient  for  her—- 
she asked  nothing  more. 


76  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

So  we  went  abroad— she  and  I, — alone — and  together  we 
explored  the  ancient  domains  of  the  Delameures.  The 
broad  acres  which  they  had  owned  had  long  ago  passed  into 
the  hands  of  strangers,  and  the  castle  which  they  had  built 
had  been  torn  down,  and  a  stately  pleasure  house  in  the 
modern  style  built  in  its  stead;  but  the  foundations  of  the 
ancient  structure  were  still  extant,  and  Laline  and  I,  hand 
in  hand,  explored  them. 

It  had  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  bliss  was  beyond  the  power 
of  increase,  but  now  it  culminated  in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness 
that  was  beyond  all  compare,  and  Laline  grew  more  won- 
drously  and  radiantly  beautiful. 

Down  under  the  earth  we  found  a  long-forgotten  dungeon. 
A  narrow  opening  let  in  just  air  enough  to  keep  alive  the 
prisoner  immured  therein,  but  no  ray  of  sunlight  ever  pene- 
trated into  its  damp,  somber  interior.  We  found  it  one  day 
when  we  had  threaded  the  intricacies  of  subterranean  laby- 
rinths of  passages  and  stairways.  I  looked  at  it  with  a  dim, 
half -familiar  sense  of  recognition — yet  there  could  be  no 
chance  that  I  had  ever  visited  it  before. 

Suddenly  there  dawned  upon  me  a  remembrance  that 
there  had  been  in  the  ancient  parchments  which  I  had  read 
on  that  eventful  day  when  Laline  had  emerged  from  the 
dim  unreality  of  the  portrait  and  stood  by  my  side  a  creature 
of  flesh  and  blood,  a  description  of  the  cell  where  Jean  De 
L'Armeure  had  met  the  doom  which  fate — resistless  fate — 
had  held  in  store  for  him. 

This  was  the  place.  I  bent  down  over  the  damp  floor  as 
if  to  search  for  stains  of  his  life-blood. 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  clang  of  an  iron  gate  behind  me 
and  looking  up  I  saw  the  gleam  of  Laline's  white  arm  as  she 
let  it  fall  from  the  iron  bars  of  a  thickly  grated  door,  before 
unseen,  which  she  had  swung  to  behind  me. 

I  was  a  prisoner  I 


LALINE.  77 

I  felt  no  fear,  for  instantaneously  I  noticed  that  Laline 
was  on  the  other  side.  I  looked  upon  it  as  some  frolicsome 
whim  of  hers.  I  supposed  that  she  had  shut  me  in,  in  play, 
and  that  she  would  pretend  to  detain  me  for  a  few  minutes 
and  then  let  me  free.  So  I  waited,  fearlessly,  patiently. 

Blind  fool  that  I  was,  the  doom  of  the  Delameures  had 
overtaken  me — and  I  knew  it  not !  The  vow  of  Dagobert  was 
about  to  be  accomplished !  The  race  of  the  Delameures 
was  restored  to  wealth  and  honor  and  my  life  was  to  be  the 
priceless  payment. 

I  came  to  £he  grating  that  shut  me  out  from  the  world. 
The  torch  that  I  had  stuck  in  a  crevice  of  the  passage,  before 
entering  the  dungeon,  seemed  to  burn  with  a  dim  and 
epulchral  glare,  and  the  damp,  lifeless  air  was  growing 
heavy  with  the  black  smoke  from  the  resinous  compound. 
A  strange  fear  came  over  me.  The  form  of  Laline  seemed 
to  be  fading  from  my  sight.  I  shook  the  iron  bars  with 
superhuman  strength,  but  they  resisted  all  my  efforts  and 
remained  firm. 

I  cried  aloud;  "  Laline  !  Laline  !  Let  me  out !  Let  me 
out,  Laline ! " 

Then  there  came  to  my  ears  the  murmer  of  a  so.t,  low 
voice,  that  I  knew  to  be  Laline's,  though  it  was  broken  by 
sobs  and  tremulous  with  tears. 

"  Alas  !  Alas  !  I  may  not  free  you  !  I  am  but  the  minister 
of  fate — the  instrumentality  that  lured  you  blindly  hither, 
that  the  doom  of  the  Delameures  might  be  accomplished. 

0  my  love  !  my  love  ! " — the  voice  rose  into  passionate  wail- 
ings — "  My  love  !    My  love  !    Forgive — oh  forgive  me  !    I 
have  come  to  many  of  your  race  before  I  came  to  you,  bnt 

1  have  loved  none,  I  have  been  loved  by  none,  as  I  hare 
loved  and  been  loved  by  you  !   Oh  my  love  !   My  love;   for- 
give rne  !  oh  forgive  me  ! " 

I  could  see  the  tears  glistening  on  her  pale  cheeks,  the 


78  THE   POMFItET   MYSTERY. 

first  tears  that  I  had  seen  in  those  lovely  eyes  since  they  had 
wept  in  sympathy  for  my  sorrows  when  years  before  I  had 
arisen  from  prostration  before  the  portrait  that  no  longer 
limned  her  lovely  features— I  saw  her  arms  stretched  out 
towards  me  in  a  passionate  gesture  of  hopeless  yearning  and 
despair. 

I  cried  aloud  until  my  throat  was  hoarse  and  voiceless.  I 
beat  the  bars  until  my  hands  were  raw  and  the  iron  sanguine 
with  my  blood.  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  I  prayed — yes, 
for  the  first  time  in  forty  years  I  prayed— but  it  was  all  in 
vain — the  iron  bars  moved  not. 

Then,  inch  by  inch,  I  searched  my  cell,  hoping  to  find 
hidden  some  secret  exit,  but  all  my  endeavors  were  in  vain. 

Then  once  more  I  called  upon  Laline  for  help.  I  bade 
her  remember  the  happy  hours  we  had  spent  together,  the 
love  I  had  borne  for  her — I  know  not  what  I  said,  for  I  was 
beside  myself  in  an  agony  of  apprehension. 

The  red  glow  of  the  torch  seemed  to  expand  into  a  hngh 
fire.  Its  jutting  flames  became  the  crimson  fangs  of  ser- 
pents. I  saw  their  eyes  gleam  venomously  at  me  as  their 
writhing  forms  rose  up  into  the  smoke  and  came  curling  and 
twisting  toward  me.  I  felt  their  slimy,  scaly  bodies  wind- 
ing their  loathsome  sinuosities  about  me,  wreathing  them- 
selves among  my  hair,  binding  my  limbs  with  living  manacles. 

Then  came  oblivion.  And  then  returning  consciousness 
of  sound  and  motion ;  and  then  thought  and  shuddering 
terror. 

The  torch  had  burned  itself  away. 

Time  passed,  but  I  could  not  measure  its  flight.  Night 
and  day  were  alike  in  that  fateful  dungeon  deep  in  the 
ground.  There  Avas  a  faint,  luminous  glow  that  dimly  dis- 
closed the  limits  of  my  tomb,  but  darkness  would  have  been 
less  hard  to  bear  than  that  ghastly,  sepulchral  light  that 
sufficed  only  to  reveal  the  horrors  that  encompassed  nie. 


LALISTE.  79 

I  thought  of  the  fair  fields  overhead;  of  the  great  arch 
of  the  clear  blue  sky;  of  the  fair  flowers;  the  green  grass;  the 
murmuring  brook  that  rippled  over  the  pebbles  of  its  bed 
and  laughed  and  danced  merrily  in  the  sunlight;  I  thought 
of  the  leafy  boughs  of  the  trees,  slowly  swaying  from  side  to 
side  as  the  soft  breeze  rustled  through  them;  of  the  tune- 
ful birds  that  twittered  among  the  flower-laden  shrubs — but 
instead  of  the  songs  of  the  _Virds,  I  heard  only  the  sobbing 
moans  of  Laline,  in  the  outer  darkness  beyond  the  grating 
of  my  cell— instead  of  the  odorous  fragrance  of  the  flowers, 
I  smelt  the  close  musty  scent  of  a  charnel-house — instead 
of  the  rippling  streams  I  saw  the  damp  moisture,  oozing 
slowly  down  the  walls — and  in  place  of  the  blue  vaults  of 
heaven  and  the  leafy  branches  of  the  trees  my  eyes  fell  upon 
the  slimy  stones  of  my  dungeon. 

I  flung  mysalf  prone  upon  the  damp  floor  and  wept  aloud. 
I  scratched  at  the  flinty  stones  until  my  fingers  bled  and 
my  nails  were  worn  to  the  quick. 

Then  the  pangs  of  hunger  and  thirst  assailed  me,  and  I 
tore  at  my  flesh  and  drank  my  own  warm  blood  in  the 
frenzy  of  my  anguish. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  pause  in  my  delirium.  I  found 
my  hands  grasping  the  yellow  manuscripts  that  recorded  the 
awful  fate  that  would  forever  follow  the  sole  representative 
of  the  Delameures.  I  spread  the  parchments  open  on  the 
floor  of  my  dungeon  and  I  grow  supernaturally  calm  as  I 
write  this  history  of  my  sad  fate. 

Even  as  I  write,  I  can  discern  the  form  of  Laline  crouch- 
ing down  in  the  narrow  passage  outside.  Oh,  descendant  of 
mine,  whose  eye  shall  read  these  lines,  beware  of  her  !  She 
will  come  to  you,  as  she  came  to  me,  with  the  cncliantment 
of  her  wondrous  beauty,  but  oh,  beware  of  her  !  She  will 
cast  about  you  the  spell  of  her  radiant  eyes,  she  will  charm 
you  with  the  celestial  music  of  her  voice,  but  oh  beware, 


80  THE   POMFHET   MYSTERY. 

beware  of  her !  She  will  raise  you  to  Heaven  with  the 
brightness  of  her  smile;  she  will  lead  you  into  Hell  as  she 
has  led  me  !  Oh  beware  ! 

Child,  through  whose  veins  my  blood  will  run,  as  you 
read  these  lines  beware  of  the  fatal  beauty,  the  death  deal- 
ing loveliness  of  Laline  ! 

Beware  1 


CHAPTER  X.' 

WHAT  ETHEL  SAW. 

VANCE  and  his  wife  went  to  Boston  for  their  wedding 
trip,  and  when  they  came  back  they  made  their  home  with 
the  Squire  in  the  old  house  next  to  the  Bank. 

Two  long  years  passed  by  in  which  life  was  one  long  holi- 
day for  the  young  couple.  Vance  amused  himself  with  his 
painting  or  helped  the  Squire  in  the  bank,  and  when  Deacon 
Grosvernor  died  became  in  his  place  a  Director.  Ethel  at- 
tended to  such  household  duties  as  Aunt  Martha  left  for 
her  or  drove  out  with  her  husband,  and  every  little  while 
they  took  long  trips  to  Boston,  New  York  and  Philadelphia, 
and  sometimes  to  the  far  West  and  South. 

Ethel  grew  to  love  her  husband  more  and  more.  She 
was  one  of  those  women  who  having  loved  gives  up  her 
whole  heart  to  the  man  of  her  choice.  Her  love  for  him 
grew  and  increased  more  and  more  day  by  day,  and  as  her 
nature  was  a  deep  and  strong  one,  so  her  love  was  deeper 
and  stronger  than  the  love  of  many  another  woman,  had  its 
roots  deep  in  her  heart  and  had  entwined  itself  into  her 
very  being.  Woe  imto  her  if  ever  that  love  was  spurned  or 
betrayed.  It  could  not  die  without  shaking  the  very  founda- 
tions of  her  life;  and  mingled  with  her  love  was  a  reverence 


WHAT   ETHEL   SAW.  81 

and  admiration  for  her  husband.  He  was  so  clever  and  dis- 
tinguished. He  seemed  to  be  able  to  do  everything  and  to 
do  it  well.  Her  father  was  surprised  at  his  knowledge  of 
book-keeping — he  answered  that  he  had  been  a  year  in  a 
banker's  office  in  London  while  his  father  lived  there.  He 
was  a  natural  mechanic,  a  fine,  delicate  workman,  but  he 
explained  that  he  had  ever  had  a  hobby  for  mechanics;  and 
beyond  his  physical  and  mental  gifts,  Ethel,  with  the  fine 
intuitions  of  a  woman  who  loves,  saw  that  there  was  in  her 
husband  a  striving  after  a  new,  a  purer,  a  holier,  better  life 
than  he  had  led  before.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  he  exhibited 
fits  of  restlessness.  He  was  dull  and  abstracted  for  days  at 
a  time.  Even  his  wife's  presence  failed  to  cheer  him. 

"  He  is  bored  in  this  quiet  place,"  said  the  Squire  to  her 
one  day  when  one  of  these  moods  was  upon  his  son-in-law. 
"  Young  men  need  action.  Young  men  need  change.  Let 
him  to  go  to  the  city  for  a  week  or  two  alone.  That  will 
cheer  him  up." 

There  is  something  finer  in  the  nervous  organization  of  a 
woman  than  in  that  of  a  man.  It  approaches  nearer  to  the 
spiritual  and  is  interwoven  with  it.  Often  a  woman,  throw- 
ing her  reason  aside  and  trusting  to  her  intuitions,  will  go 
right,  although  she  knows  not  why.  And  so  Ethel's  heart 
misgave  her  while  she  followed  her  father's  advice  and  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  leave  her.  Even  after  he  had  re- 
turned, fresh  and  bright  again,  with  his  gay,  fantastic  humor 
sparkling  and  flashing  as  it  did  in  the  early  days  of  his 
courtship,  her  secret  intuitions  told  her  that  there  was 
something  lost.  "Was  it  the  aspiration  toward  a  new  and 
holier  life  ? 

He  gave  more  time  and  attention  to  the  bank  after  his 
return,  and  seemed  anxious  to  relieve  the  Squire  of  all  care 
and  trouble  connected  therewith.  He  courted  especially 
friendship  with  Ephraim  Chester;  but  the  cashier  met  aU 


82  THE   POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

his  advances  very  coldly  and  warily;  seeming  to  desire  to 
build  a  wall  between  himself  and  Vance.  He  appeared  to 
mistrust  him,  and  a  close  observer  might  have  seen  some 
trace  of  fear  in  the  care  which  he  took  and  the  watch  which 
he  set  upon  himself  when  Vance  was  present. 

More  than  once  Vance  ransacked  his  memory  to  find  out 
where  he  had  seen  the  cashier  before,  and  one  evening  as  he 
sat  before  the  open  wood  fire  thinking  about  it,  it  suddenly 
flashed  across  his  mind. 

"  I  have  it,"  he  exclaimed  aloud. 

"  Have  what,  dear?"  said  his  wife,  who  was  sitting  by  his 
side  sewing. 

"Did  I  speak,  Love?" 

"You  said  '  I  have  it  I'" 

"  I  was  thinking,  my  dear,  and  did  not  know  that  I 
thought  aloud." 

"  Arthur,"  said  the  Squire,  entering  the  room,  "  are  you 
going  to  New  York  soon  ?  " 

"Why,  father?" 

"  We  are  going  to  start  a  Savings  Bank  and  want  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  bonds,  and  I  thought  it 
would  save  the  expressage  if  you  went  to  New  York,  bought 
the  bonds  and  brought  them  back  with  you." 

Vance  hesitated.  There  was  a  struggle  in  his  soul,  but  it 
was  over  in  a  minute.  "  I  will  go  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  you  a  check  on  our  correspondents.  Now, 
good  night,  I  am  going  to  bed,"  and  kissing  his  daughter 
the  Squire  left  the  room. 

"  Don't  go  to-morrow,  Arthur,"  said  Ethel,  rising  and 
leaning  over  her  husband,  smoothing  his  thick  curly  hair 
with  her  hand. 

"  Why  not,  dearest?"  he  asked,  reaching  up  and  pulling 
the  hand  clown  to  his  lips. 

"  I  can't  give  any  reason,  Arthur,  but  I  have  a  feeling 
that  something  dreadful  will  happen  if  you  do." 


WHAT   ETHEL  SAW.  83 

She  felt  a  slight  shudder  run  through  his  frame,  as  if  he 
had  felt  a  sudden  draught  of  chill  air,  but  he  only  laughed 
gayly  as  he  answered,  "  It's  not  like  my  little  wife  to  be 
nervous.  You  are  tired  after  the  day's  work.  Come,  let 
us  follow  papa's  example  and  go  to  bed." 

Vance  went  to  New  York,  stayed  there  two  or  three  days, 
and  then  came  back  bringing  the  bonds  with  him,  and  they 
were  locked  up  in  the  vault  of  the  bank. 

"  You  see,  little  wife,  that  I  am  back  safe  and  sound,"  he 
said  as  Ethel  met  him  at  the  station. 

"  Yes,  Arthur,"  she  answered,  and  tears  of  joy  glistened  in 
her  eyes,  "but  I  have  been  so  miserable  while  you  were 
away." 

"  Well !  well !"  he  said,  "  I  won't  go  away  again  for  a 
longtime." 

And  yet  shortly  afterward  Vance  again  announced  his  in- 
tention to  leave  Pomfret.  He  had  received  a  letter,  he 
said,  relating  to  some  land  which  his  father  had  left  him  in 
Chicago  and  he  must  go  there  to  attend  personally  to  the 
business. 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  go  away,"  Ethel  exclaimed. 

"  I  do  not  go  for  my  own  pleasure,"  he  answered  kissing 
her,  "  and  I  will  not  be  away  long." 

"  I  met  Dr.  Gamble  as  I  came  in,"  said  the  Squire  at  the 
tea  table,  one  evening  several  days  after  Vance  had  gone. 
"  He's  been  up  to  see  Chester." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Aunt  Martha. 

"  Doctor  says  he's  bilious,  hasn't  slept  enough.  Got  a 
buzzin'  in  his  head  and  his  blood's  sluggish  and  the  heart's 
action  is  weak." 

"  Why,  papa,"  said  Ethel,  "  you  must  have  had  quite  a 
talk  with  the  doctor." 

"  And  what  is  the  doctor  goin'  to  give  him?"  queried 
Aunt  Martha. 


84  THE   POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

"  Gamble  said  lie  would  bleed  him  a  little  and  then  give 
him  a  dose  of  something  so  that  he  would  sleep  all  through 
the  night" 

"  It's  nothing  serious  then?" 

"  I  hope  not.     We  need  him  in  the  bank." 

' '  How  we  miss  Arthur  ! " 

"  By  the  way,  Ethel,  I  saw  an  old  flame  of  yours  in  the 
street  this  afternoon." 

"Who?" 

"  Benny  Moore.  I  asked  him  in  to  tea,  but  he  said  he 
hadn't  been  out  to  the  farm  yet  and  had  to  go  there  first." 

The  evening  passed  away  and  the  inmates  of  the  house 
were  wrapped  in  slumber. 

In  the  night  Ethel  awoke  from  troubled  dreams.  She 
put  out  her  hand  to  waken  her  husband,  but  his  place  was 
vacant  and  she  remembered  he  had  gone  away.  The  clock 
in  the  meeting  house  steeple  tolled  "  one."  She  tossed  rest- 
lessly from  side  to  side  unable  to  sleep.  Her  mind  was 
filled  with  vague  alarms.  She  heard  the  clock  strike  the 
half  hour,  then  she  arose,  opened  the  window  and  looked 
out.  The  night  was  very  still.  No  sound  was  heard  except 
the  wind  sobbing  and  sighing  through  the  branches  of  the 
trees.  Dark  clouds  scudded  across  the  sky  shutting  out 
groups  of  stars  and  seeming  almost  to  cast  shadows  through 
the  darkness. 

"  We  shall  have  rain  before  morning,"  she  said  to  herself 
as  she  closed  the  window  and  went  back  to  bed. 

The  clock  struck  "  two."  Awake  for  an  hour  ;  why 
could  she  not  sleep,  what  was  the  matter  ?  She  lighted  a 
candle  and  went  out  in  the  hall.  All  was  quiet.  No — there 
was  a  noise  in  the  lower  hall.  What  was  it?  She  went  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs  to  listen.  The  noise  seemed  like  the 
sound  of  subdued  voices.  She  shaded  the  candle  with  her 
hand  and  looked  over  the  balustrades.  All  was  dark. 


"  QUICK  AS  A  FLASH  THE  THOUGHT  RUSHED  ACROSS  HER  KIND  OF  PEOPLE 
•     ATTEMPTING  TO  ROB  THE  BAKE."     Page  SO. 


86  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

"Who's  there,"  she  said  softly.  There  was  no  answer. 
Timidly  she  went  down  stairs,  the  light  flickering  and  cast- 
ing strange  shadows  on  the  wall. 

She  was  half  way  down  the  staircase  opposite  to  the  door 
leading  into  the  bank  when  through  the  glass  transom  of 
the  doorway  she  saw  a  light.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  thought 
rushed  across  her  mind  of  people  attempting  to  rob  the 
bank. 

There  were  figures  in  the  bank.  She  could  see  them 
moving  about.  The  doors  of  the  vault  were  open.  She 
was  about  to  scream  but  a  deadly  horror  came  over  her. 
That  figure  stooping  down  over  a  bag  !  Surely  she  knew 
it  ?  It  rose  and  straightened  itself  and  its  outline  became 
full  and  distinct.  She  knew  it — ah  how  well. 

A  terrible  faintness  came  over  her.  Her  heart  seemed 
to  stop  its  beating.  Her  limbs  trembled.  She  turned 
mechanically  to  go  up  stairs.  The  candle  swayed  from  side 
to  side.  Her  feet  seemed  heavy  as  lead.  She  stumbled 
on  the  steps.  She  tripped  over  her  long  wrapper,  and 
staggered  to  her  room;  the  candle  dropped  upon  the  floor 
extinguishing  itself.  She  fell  upon  her  bed. 

All  through  the  long  hours  until  the  dawn  she  lay  there. 
Those  hours  were  years  in  their  tedious  length.  The  dark- 
ness that  settled  over  and  folded  itself  about  her  soul  was 
blacker  than  the  darkness  of  the  night.  The  sight  she  had 
seen  seemed  to  be  ever  before  her  eyes,  to  be  burnt  into 
her  heart  and  brain — for  they  felt  on  fire. 

Her  thoughts  grew  more  and  more  disordered.  Her 
memory  turned  to  scenes  of  other  days.  She  thought  of 
her  husband.  She  called  on  him.  Why  did  he  not 
answer  ?  Then  the  sight  she  had  seen  made  itself  felt  once 
more.  She  felt  a  longing  for  death.  It  was  less  terrible 
than  the  great  horror  that  oppressed  her.  Her  husband — 
ha !  his  razors  were  at  hand;  it  needed  but  one  firm  cut 


A   MYSTERIOUS   MURDER.  87 

and  in  a  few  seconds  all  would  be  over.  She  strove  to  rise 
from  the  bed,  a  strange  invisible  power  held  her  down. 
She  strove  to  cry  out,  but  her  throat  was  parched  and  dry 
and  no  sound  would  come  from  it. 

When  daylight  broke  and  the  stir  of  life  commenced  again 
in  the  house,  Aunt  Martha,  going  to  her  early  duties,  saw  the 
door  of  the  bedroom  wide  open  and  Ethel  lying  apparently 
lifeless  on  the  bed. 

Then  there  was  a  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  gray  twilight 
of  the  early  morning.  Old  Dr.  Gamble  was  summoned  to 
the  bedside.  The  old  Squire,  with  the  white  stubble  of  his 
beard  shining  on  his  unshaved,  anxious  face,  was  moving 
restlessly  about  the  house. 

"It  is  no  ordinary  faintness,"  said  the  old  doctor  as  he 
lanced  the  white  arm  and  saw  the  red  blood,  slowly,  very 
slowly,  trickle  from  the  wound  which  his  lancet  had  made. 

"  Arthur,"  she  moaned  at  last  as  she  came  to. 

The  sun  rose  higher  in  the  heavens,  the  world  awoke  to 
the  cares  and  duties  of  a  new  day  and  the  old  doctor  sat  by 
her  bedside  holding  her  wrist  in  his  hand  and  looking  very 
grave. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDEE. 

GREAT  was  the  excitement  in  Pomfret  when  the  news 
was  spread  abroad  that  the  bank  had  been  robbed.  All 
the  depositors  had  a  personal  interest  in  the  matter  and 
were  eager  for  details.  But  not  all  heard  the  news  with 
the  same  sensations.  Some  bewailed  the  loss  of  their  money 
— hard-earned  savings,  perhaps — others,  mostly  the  trades- 
people, felt  that  there  was  compensation  in  the  fact  that 
their  notes  had  been  carried  off  and  that  there  would  be  no 


88  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

call  upon  them  for  payment  when  the  day  of  maturity  ar- 
rived. 

The  excitement  was  deepened  and  intensified  later  on  by 
the  news  that  a  dead  body  had  been  found  stranded  on  a 
shoal  in  the  river.  The  news  flew  about  in  vague  rumors 
at  first,  but  soon  gathered  more  substance  as  detail  after 
detail  was  added  to  it.  It  was  asserted  to  be  a  woman's 
body;  then  that  the  corpse  had  been  identified  as  Adele 
Hollenbeck,  who  had  worked  a  long  while  ago  for  Squire 
Leslie,  then  that  the  body  had  been  dead  for  at  least  two  or 
three  days.  Later  on  it  was  rumored  that  signs  of  a  fierce 
struggle  had  been  discovered  in  the  park,  and  that  bushes 
had  been  broken  and  that  a  track  was  plain  where  some 
heavy  body  had  been  dragged  to  the  waterside. 

Here  were  items  for  the  gossips,  and  many  were  the  sage 
opinions  and  shrewd  guesses  as  to  the  why,  and  when  and 
how  of  their  occurrence.  They  dwarfed  the  bank  robbery 
into  insignificance,  however,  and  the  sickness  of  Ethel  Vance 
and  the  murder  almost  took  the  precedence. 

How  came  Adele  Hollenbeck  in  Pomfret  ?  Had  any  one 
seen  her  alive  ?  She  had  left  the  Squire's  house  more  than 
two  years  ago,  promising  to  return  in  a  week,  but  from  that 
day  until  her  body  was  found  stranded  on  the  sandy  island 
in  the  river  none  of  the  Pomfret  folks  had  seen  her.  What 
was  the  object  of  her  murder — robbery,  revenge  or  what? 
Had  it  any  connection  with  the  robbery  of  the  bank  ?  Such 
were  some  of  the  questions  which  agitated  the  people  of 
Pomfret  all  through  the  long  hours  of  the  day  and  late  into 
the  night  and  drew  crowds  of  people  from  the  country 
round  about. 

Those  who  had  found  the  body,  and,  wading  out  into  the 
river,  had  brought  it  ashore,  and  later  on  had  borne  it  wet 
and  slimy  down  to  the  undertaker's  store,  were  heroes  of 
the  hour,  and  all  day  long  were  surrounded  by  an  eager 


A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER.  8 

. 

crowd  which  never  tired  of  listening  to  a  rehearsal  of  the 
finding. 

It  was  not  a  case  of  suicide.  The  bruises  on  the  body, 
the  trampled  ground  and  the  path  to  the  waterside  all  spoke 
of  murder.  But  who  had  done  the  deed  ?  What  was  the 
motive?  "Where  was  the  murderer? 

The  body  was  buried,  and  in  later  years  Ethel  caused  a 
simple  slab  of  marble  to  be  raised  above  the  grave  and  that 
slab  bore  only  the  words  "  Adele  Hollenbeck." 

From  that  day  to  this  Pomfret  Park  has  been  haunted. 
On  moonlight  nights  passers-by  have  seen  a  white  figure 
sitting  by  the  waterside  or  flitting  noiseless  through  the 
underbrush.  On  stormy  nights  sounds  of  moaning, — 
shrieks,  mutterings  and  sobs — come  from  the  wildly  tempest 
tossed  woods,  and  ever  and  anon  comes  a  dull  plash  rising 
above  all  other  sounds,  as  if  some  heavy  body  is  being  cast 
into  the  water.  At  autumn,  when  the  leaves  turn,  the 
trees  and  bushes,  through  which  once  ran  the  trampled 
path  which  the  murderer  with  his  strange  ghastly  burden 
took  to  the  riverside,  flame  with  crimson  dyes,  as  if  the 
blood  of  the  murdered  woman  rose  from  the  earth  to  cry 
out  against  the  murderer. 

Two  such  great  crimes  happening  so  close  together  could 
not  but  be  imputed  to  the  same  criminals,  and  therefore  it 
was  not  strange  that  there  were  many  in  Pomfret  who 
openly  declared  that  the  robbers  were  the  murderers  also. 

But  the  mystery  which  hung  over  the  two  great  crimes 
was  yet  unsolved. 

During  the  years  that  had  followed  Ethel's  marriage  to 
Arthur  Vance,  Benny  Moore  had  remained  in  New  York 
practicing  his  profession.  It  was  uphill  work  for  him,  a 
stranger,  hardly  knowing  any  one  in  the  great  city,  to  make 
his  way,  but  he  persevered  bravely,  counting  no  work  as 
unworthy  of  his  labor,  rejecting  nothing  that  came  to  him. 


90  THE    POMFUKT   MYSTERY. 

*His  practice  at  first  was  almost  exclusively  among  the  poor 
— small  criminal  cases  with  trifling  fees  and  smaller  honor 
to  be  gained  from  them.  The  allowance  which  his  father 
made  him  and  his  literary  earnings  were  barely  sufficient  to 
provide  for  his  necessities,  but  nevertheless  it  kept  him  from 
hunger  and  want  and  ho  was  spared  the  many  harsher 
strokes  of  misfortune  which  have  beaten  so  many  an  aspir- 
ing soul  into  its  grave. 

Yet  still  he  perserved,  and  as  he  became  better  known  in 
the  police  courts  his  clients  increased.  It  was  not  pleasant 
work  to  him — the  association  with  common  malefactors  was 
neither  elevating  nor  agreeable,  and  it  was  rarely  that  he 
was  called  upon  in  a  case  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  be  in- 
teresting, or  that  involved  points  of  law  at  all  subtle  and 
deep. 

The  pleasant  times  were  when  he  mingled  with  the  de- 
tectives and  heard  their  tales  of  marvelous  adventures  and 
narrow  escapes,  or  more  rarely  followed  them  step  by  step 
as  they  traced  some  crime  to  its  perpetrator,  or  slowly  un- 
raveled some  tangled  skein  of  evidence.  They  sometimes 
came  to  consult  him  about  their  cases,  for  he  had  a  clear 
mind  and  good  judgment  and  his  advice  was  often  valuable 
to  them. 

In  time  lie  met  John  Loring  and  formed  a  partnership 
with  him,  and  then  began  slowly  to  number  a  better  class 
of  men  among  his  clients. 

Did  he  ever  think  of  Ethel  Leslie  ?  Often  he  thought  of 
her  ;  but  as  the  years  rolled  by  his  thoughts  grew  less  dread- 
ful and  less  hopeless.  Time,  the  great  healer,  was  slowly 
but  surely  doing  his  work;  the  wounds  were  healing,  al- 
though ugly  scars  might  remain. 

Since  Ethel's  marriage  he  had  not  gone  to  Pomfret,  but 
letters  from  home  told  him  from  time  to  time  how  matters 
stood  and  what  was  going  on.  At  first  when  such  letters 


.    BENNY'S  DREAM.  91 

came  he  found  himself  eagerly  watching  for  and  yet  dread- 
ing lest  he  should  find  some  mention  of  Ethel,  but  as  the 
days  passed  such  hopes  and  fears  faded  and  the  news  of  the 
farm — how  the  cattle  and  horses  and  crops  were  doing — was 
what  he  was  interested  in. 

As  his  mind  recovered  from  its  shock  there  grew  upon 
him  a  longing  to  see  his  home  once  more,  and  as  he  had  not 
taken  a  holiday  since  he  had  come  to  New  York  be  deter- 
mined to  revisit,  for  a  few  days,  the  scenes  of  his  youth. 

So  it  happened  that  he  alighted  from  the  train  at  Pomfret 
the  day  before  the  robbery — the.  day  before  Adele  Holl  en- 
beck's  dead  body  had  been  found  in  the  river — the  day 
before  Ethel's  sudden  illness. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BENNY'S  DREAM. 

MRS.  MOORE  was  overjoyed  to  see  her  <c boy"  back  again, 
and  with  true  housewifely  pride  she  set  the  supper  table 
with  every  domestic  dainty  likely  to  tempt  his  appetite. 
And  Benny  was  hungry  and  did  full  justice  to  all  the  good 
things  on  the  table,  eating  of  them  until  he  could  eat  no 
more. 

The  meal  was  not  a  silent  one.  Benny  had  much  to  tell 
about  his  life  in  the  city  and  many  questions  to  ask  about 
the  doings  on  the  farm,  and  the  Moores  lingered  longer 
than  was  their  custom  over  the  table. 

The  evening  passed  quietly,  for  like  all  animals  who  have 
fed  heartily,  the  two  men  were  principally  desirous  of  rest 
and  inactivity,  and  at  ten  o'clock  they  all  retired  to  rest. 

Benjamin  Moore  was  about  five  feet  six  inches  in  height, 
compactly  yet  gracefully  built,  with  a  face  showing  already 


92  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

lines  of  deep  thought  and  study.  His  chest  was  broad  and 
deep,  his  head  and  neck  were  set  well  on  his  shouders,  his 
forehead  was  broad  rather  than  high,  his  eyes,  softly  brown 
in  color,  were  clear  and  steady  and  shaded  by  heavy  eyebrows, 
his  nose  was  long  and  straight  and  full.  A  thick  curly 
beard,  dark  brown  in  color,  like  the  rest  of  his  hair,  hid 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  but  his  mouth  and  chin  were 
strong  and  resolute.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of  will  and 
determination,  of  no  mean  intellectual  power;  reticent 
rather  than  demonstrative,  strong  in  his  loves  and  his  hates. 

His  room  was  over  the  front  hall,  with  a  dormer  window 
looking  down  the  path  to  the  road.  As  he  retired  to  rest 
that  night  he  glanced  out  at  the  familiar  scene  and  gave 
half  a  sigh  for  former  days,  wishing  that  they  might 
come  again.  Then  he  blew  out  the  lamp,  jumped  into  the 
feather  bed,  drew  the  bed-clothes  and  quilted  coverlet  over 
him  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  awakened 
by  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  sound  of  a  shrill  voice  and 
by  a  weight  upon  his  chest.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  saw, 
sitting  upon  the  folds  of  the  quilt,  the  figure  of  a  tiny  old 
man  whose  face  looked  strangely  familiar,  as  if  it  had  been 
an  old  acquaintance  unaccountably  forgotten;  yet  Benny's 
memory  did  not  place  it.  Strangely,  too,  he  did  not  feel  the 
least  frightened,  but  experienced  only  a  profound  sense  of 
disgust  that  the  old  fellow  should  have  perched  himself 
where  he  was  and  thus  given  him  that  constrained  feeling 
of  his  breast. 

"  Would  you  mind,  sir,"  Benny  said  politely,  "removing 
your  seat  to  another  part  of  the  bed  where  your  weight  will 
not  interfere  with  my  breathing  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  But  I  did  not  think  that  I  weighed  any- 
thing/' the  apparition  answered  as  he  glided  to  one  side. 

Glided  is  the  proper  word  to  use,  for  the  motion  could 


BENNY'S  DREAM.  93 

not  be  said  to  be  a  walk,  run  or  flight;  it  seemed  rather  as 
if  the  old  fellow  was  suddenly  removed  without  changing 
his  posture.  Benny  might  have  thought  it  all  a  trick  of 
imagination  had  it  not  been  for  the  cessation  of  the  pressure 
which  had  annoyed  him  and  for  the  queer  figure  that  still 
met  his  gaze. 

"Thank  you,"  Benny  remarked  when  the  change  had 
been  effected,  "  and  now  will  you  kindly  tell  me  who  you 
are?" 

"You  don't  recognize  me?"  said  the  spectre.  "I  am 
your  first  ancestor  who  came  over  to  this  country." 

"  On  my  father's  or  my  mother's  side  ?  "    Benny  queried. 

"  Your  mother's  mother  was  my  daughter's  child." 

"  Say  it  again  and  say  it  slow,  won't  you?"  said  Benny, 
"for  I  am  not  good  at  genealogies  and  am  quite  mixed  up 
by  your  descriptions." 

"  Your  mother's  mother ,"  said  he. 

"  My  mother's  mother.    Yes,  I  have  got  that." 

"  Was  my  daughter's  child." 

"  Was  your  daughter's  child.  Then  my  mother's  mother 
was  my  grandmother  and  your  daughter  was  my  great- 
grandmother  and  you  must  be  my  great-great-grandfather/ 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  he  answered,  nodding  his  head  violently. 

"  And  to  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  your  visit  ?  " 
asked  Benny 

"  Oh  nothing  in  particular,"  the  ghost  replied;  "  I  some- 
times like  to  come  back  to  my  old  haunts  and  see  how  things 
are  getting  on." 

Benny  looked  more  closely  at  the  strange  figure.  He 
wore  a  peaked,  gray  beard  reaching  to  his  waist,  and  his 
gray  hair,  so  far  as  could  be  seen  under  the  conical  hat  that 
he  wore,  was  cropped  close  to  his  head.  He  was  clothed  in 
a  suit  of  rusty  black,  home-made  evidently,  and  Benny 
thought  as  he  looked  at  him  that  it  might  be  home-spun 


94  THE   PQMFEET  MYSTERY. 

also.  The  goblin  said  nothing  while  he  was  undergoing 
this  scrutiny  and  Benny  broke  the  silence  by  speaking  first. 

"  The  garb  that  you  wear,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  is  the 
Puritan  costume  of  your  time  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  the  spectre  replied,  grinning.  "What 
else  should  I  wear  ?  " 

Benny  did  not  know  and  so  remained  silent. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  wearing  my  hat,"  the  queer  figure 
continued,  designating,  by  a  wave  of  his  hand,  his  head 
gear.  "You  must  excuse  my  wearing  my  hat,  but  there 
are  so  many  draughts  about  and  I  am  very  liable  to  catch 
cold." 

"  But  haven't  you  anything  to  say  to  me  ?  "  Benny  queried, 
"  I  begin  to  think  it  was  really  a  shame  that  I  should  be 
waked  for  nothing.  Tell  me  something  about  yourself. 
Aren't  there  any  more  of  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  plenty.     There  they  are." 

Benny's  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  the  ghost's  gesture, 
and  saw,  dimly  in  the  shadow,  a  whole  row  of  figures, 
some  large  and  some  small.  If  he  had  not  noticed  them 
before  it  must  have  been  because  they  stood  where  the 
room  was  dark,  while  the  little  old  fellow  himself  sat 
directly  in  a  ray  of  moonlight  that  fell  upon  the  bed. 

"  Are  they  all  ancestors?"  Benny  asked. 

"  Certainly  they  are,"  the  ghost  responded,  "  if  they 
were  not  they  would  not  be  here.  The  little  ones  are  the 
oldest  and  the  big  ones  the  youngest.  You  will  observe 
that  I  am  the  smallest  of  all." 

"  That's  very  odd,"  said  Benny. 

"  You  think  so? "  the  ghost  answered.  "  You  see  while 
we  were  alive  on  earth  we  were  all  the  time  growing  bigger 
and  bigger,  but  now,  before  we  can  become  perfectly  spiritu- 
alized, we  must  grow  smaller  until  we  become  nothing — when 
we  reach  that  state  Ave  are  perfect  spirits,  now  we  are  only 
ghosts." 


BENNY'S  DREAM.  95 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Benn}^  "  children  must  have  the 
advantage  of  you." 

"  Of  course  they  do,"  the  spectre  responded.  "  While  I 
lived  on  earth  I  used  to  think  that  it  was  a  thing  to  be  proud 
of  that  I  had  lived  to  be  ninety  years  of  age;  since  then, 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  a  pity  that  I  did  not 
die  when  I  was  five  years  old." 

"  But  while  you  are  in  your  present  condition,  you  go 
around  and  see  things,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  the  ghost  answered  with  a  grimace  of  dis- 
content. "  That's  part  of  the  bother  of  it.  One  gets  so 
tired  of  traveling,  you  know;  and  I  confess  that  it  always 
annoys  me  to  get  among  Quakers  and  Anabaptists,  as  one 
sometimes  will — by  accident." 

"  And  then,  too,  you  generally  have  to  frequent  such 
disagreeable  places — old  ruins,  and  musty  cellars  and  such 
like  abodes." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  the  specter  cried  fiercely.  "  Who  told  you 
that !  Much  he  knew  about  it !  Why  it's  only  a  few,  melan- 
choly, weak-minded  ghosts  who  like  those  sort  of  things, 
and  they're  apt  to  get  awfully  lonely  there,  and  that's  why 
they  so  often  become  visible — because  they're  lonely  and 
want  company." 

While  the  little  old  figure  of  the  great-great-grandfather 
was  talking  Benny  became  aware  that  something  was  agi- 
tating those  other  figures  in  the  room,  and  when  he  ceased 
a  querulous  voice  was  distinctly  heard  complaining; 

"  Of  course  when  he's  around  no  one  can  get  a  word  in 
edgeways." 

The  old  fellow  heard  it  too,  and  turned  quickly  toward 
them  and  exclaimed  angrily. 

"  That  ain't  so,  and  you  know  it  ain't  so,  and  you  knew  it 
wasn't  so  when  you  said  it.  Oh,  I  know  your  voice,  Molly 
Mason  !  I  leave  it  to  those  present  if  I'm  half  as  great  a 
talker  as  you  are." 


96  THE    P03ORET   MYSTERY. 

A  shrill  voice  made  some  sort  of  a  reply,  but  what  it  was 
Benny  could  not  distinguish  among  the  murmurs  that  went 
up  and  the  smothered  laughter  from  the  crowd  of  ancestors, 
as  if  a  dispute  between  these  two  was  of  such  frequent  oc- 
currence as  to  be  a  joke. 

Benny  hastened  to  compose  the  threatened  quarrel. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "I  can  assure  you  that  I  have  listened 
with  the  greatest  possible  interest  to  your  conversation  and 
nothing  could  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  hear  what  you 
and  my  other  ancestors  present  have  to  say. " 

"  You  might  tell  him  the  story  of  '  The  Golden  Goose/  " 
suggested  a  voice. 

The  little  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  Not  to-night,"  he 
said.  "  Let  us  do  something  of  general  interest.  Now 
there  is  the  buried  treasure." 

"The  Buried  Treasure ?"  said  Benny.  "Is  that  a  story 
too." 

"  No,  it's  a  real  treasure  buried  in  the  orchard.  Come, 
we  will  show  it  to  you." 

A  treasure  buried  in  the  orchard  !  there  had  been  rumors 
— there  were  family  traditions — of  such  a  thing,  and  now 
it  was  to  be  discovered  !  Benny  felt  like  laughing  for  joy 
at  the  thought.  He  started  to  jump  out  of  bed,  but  a  faint 
scream  reminded  him  of  him  ancestresses  present. 

"  Oh  pardon  me,  ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  had  forgotten 
your  presence." 

There  was  considerable  snickering  and  giggling  as  the 
.shadowy  ghosts  passed  out  by  the  doorway,  and  as  the  last 
one  departed  Benny  leaped  from  his  bed  and  hastily  donned 
.his  clothes.  Then,  preceded  by  the  troop  of  ancestors,  he 
passed  downstairs  and  out  through  the  front  door. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night.  A  slight  snow  covered  the 
ground  and  upon  its  silvery  surface  the  moonlight  traced 
the  outline  of  the  twigs  and  branches  of  the  trees  as  all 


DEE  AM.  97 

passed  under  them  in  the  orchard.  The  night  was  very 
still.  The  sound  of  the  crisp  snow,  crunched  under  foot, 
seemed  to  be  loud  enough  to  waken  the  sleepers  in  the 
house.  Benny  noticed,  however,  that  only  his  footsteps 
were  audible.  Ancestors,  one  and  all,  passed  noiselessly  on, 
leaving  no  footprints. 

They  reached  the  middle  of  the  orchard,  where  as  a  land- 
mark, stood  an  ancient  apple-tree,  which,  tradition  said, 
had  been  planted  by  the  ancestor  who  built  the  house. 
Benny  was  about  to  ask  if  tradition  was  correct  in  this 
respect,  when  his  attention  was-  again  attracted  to  the  ances- 
tral specters  and  he  noticed  that  each  one  had  a  spade. 
Forming  a  ring  they  began  to  dig,  and  though  their  spades 
were  shadowy  and  indistinct  the  earth  seemed  to  yield 
before  them  and  the  hole  grew  bigger  and  bigger 

At  last  Benny  saw  uncovered  by  the  workers,  a  wooden 
box,  ornamented  with  quaint  iron  scroll-work,  seemingly 
big  enough  to  hold  three  bushels,  in  general  appearance  a 
proper  strong  box  to  contain  a  buried  treasure.  As  he 
looked  intently  at  it  he  could  see  no  sign  of  padlock  nor 
hinge,  but  the  whole  was  corded  about  with  strong  hempen 
cords.  Benny  could  not  but  marvel  at  the  strangeness  of 
securing  so  strong  a  box  with  such  frail  fastenings. 

But  he  had  not  long  to  thus  indulge  in  reveries.  The 
quaint  old  figure  that  had  aroused  him  from  sleep  stepped 
forward  and  bade  him,  "  Cut  the  cords. 

Benny  stood  abashed,  for  a  pocket-knife  was  something 
that  he  never  carried. 

"  Sir/*  said  he,  blushing  at  the  confession  he  was  about 
to  make,  "  Sir,  I  have  no  knife. " 

"  WHAT?"  the  ghost  exclaimed. 

"  Sir,"  Benny  repeated,  "  I  have  no  knife.  I  have  never 
carried  one." 

Then  from  all  the  ancestors  arose  a  chorus  of  cries  and 


98  THE   POMFBET  MYSTERY. 

groans  among  which  Benny  distinguished  only  such  revilings 
as  these: 

"  Out  upon  him!  Born  in  Yankee-land  and  has  no  jack- 
knife  !  Comes  of  pure  Yankee  blood  and  carries  no  knife  ! 
He  is  a  changeling  !  He  is  no  true  descendant  of  ours  ! 
Quick,  hide  the  treasure  from  his  sight !  Quick,  hide  the 
treasure ! " 

Almost  instantly  they  began  to  throw  back  the  earth  into 
the  hole.  The  space  about  the  sides  of  the  box  was  filled  in; 
the  clods  of  earth  fell  with  a  dull  thud  upon  the  cover,  hid- 
ing it  from  sight.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 

Benny  was  not  thus  to  be  deprived  of  the  treasure,  but 
he  had  no  time  to  hesitate.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  gave  a 
desperate  spring  and  landed  on  the  cover  of  the  box.  The 
earth  seemed  to  fly  upon  him  from  all  sides.  He  felt  it 
rising  up  until  it  covered  his  thighs  and  his  arms  and  reached 
up  to  his  neck.  He  felt  it  press  closely  around  so  that  his 
heart  could  scarcely  beat  under  its  weight.  His  feet  grew 
colder  as  the  blood  refused  to  circulate  through  them,  and 
the  cold  kept  creeping  higher  until  it  reached  his  knees. 

Determined  to  make  one  desperate  effort,  he  opened  his 
eyes.  It  was  morning.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly  into 
the  room.  Benny  lay  upon  his  bed,  but  the  sheet,  the 
blanket  and  the  coverlet  were  wound  tightly  around  his 
throat  and  chest  and  his  feet  were  bare. 

He  breathed  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  jumped  from  his 
bed,  and  as  he  dressed  he  laughed  at  the  memory  of  "  The 
Ghosts  of  his  Ancestors." 

But  that  day  he  brought  a  pocket-knife  and  he  has  carried 
one  ever  since. 


NEWS  OF  THE  EOBBEKY.  99 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

NEWS  OF  THE  KOBBEEY. 

POMFEET,  April  3rd,  18 — 

To  OLIVEE  LOEING,  ESQ.  ; 

care  of  Loring  &  Moore,  19  Nassau  St.,  N.Y. 
DEAE   LOEING:    You  know  when  I  left  you  that  I 
thought  I  should  be  back  in  a  day  or  two,  but  I  have 
changed  my  plans,  and  of  course  want  to  tell  you  why. 

But  before  I  begin  to  do  so,  I  wish  to  write  a  word 
about  the  telegram  I  sent  you  this  morning.  It  was 
"Pomfret  Bank  robbed.  Please  see  Sneeden,  Chief  of 
Police,  and  ask  him  to  send  the  best  detective  on  the  force 
to  Pomfret.  Let  him  inquire  for  me  as  a  friend.  Telegraph 
at  length  in  our  firm  cipher.  We  are  retained  in  the  case. " 

Now  to  return  to  the  reasons  why  I  shall  be  detained 
here,  and  to  begin  at  the  very  beginning. 

I  reached  here  safe  and  sound,  though  the  train  was 
late,  and  after  a  short  time  spent  in  the  town  I  drove  out 
home.  I  was  up  early  this  morning,  as  I  generally  am  in 
the  country,  and  went  out  with  father  to  see  the  cows  milked 
and  start  the  day's  work  on  the  farm. 

There  was  not  much  for  me  to  do  about  the  barns,  so 
after  saying  "  how  d'ye  do  "  to  the  help  and  petting  the  horses 
and  cattle  and  giving  Duke  some  sugar — he  remembered  me 
perfectly  in  spite  of  my  long  absence  and  neighed  with 
pleasure  when  he  heard  my  voice — I  took  the  lawn  mower 
and  began  to  run  it  over  the  lawn  between  the  house  and 
the  road. 

Pushing  and  pulling  a  lawn  mower  is  pretty  good  work, 


100  THE   POMFBET  MYSTERY. 

as  perhaps  you  know,  and  I  was  congratulating  myself  upon 
the  splendid  appetite  I  was  acquiring  for  breakfast  when  I 
heard  the  sound  of  a  wagon  coming  along  the  road,  and  look- 
ing up  recognized  Ezra  Cummins'  sorrel  horse;  I  think  I 
told  you  how  I  raced  Duke  against  him  once  and  beat  him. 

"  Well,  I  knew  that  Erza  did  not  drive  that  horse  into  a 
lather,  as  he  was  then,  except  on  special  occasions,  and  I 
wondered  what  was  up.  He  saw  me  and  drove  into  the 
avenue  and  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  the  news.  Of  course  I 
had  not.  Then  he  told  me  that  the  Pomfret  Bank  had 
been  robbed.  Ezra  is  one  of  the  constables  of  the  town  and 
I  therefore  believed  what  he  said.  He  and  others  had  been 
sent  out  to  collect  the  directors  at  the  bank  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. In  answer  to  my  enquiries  he  said  that  Mrs.  Vance, 
Squire  Leslie's  daughter  was  very  ill,  that  her  husband  had 
gone  away  two  or  three  days  previously  and  that  the  town 
was  terribly  excited.  The  robbery  had  been  discovered  only 
half  an  hour  before  he  left,  so  that  he  had  no  theory  worth 
mentioning  as  to  who  had  committed  the  crime,  but  he  had 
been  in  the  bank  and  described  the  safe  as  having  been 
thoroughly  gutted  of  its  contents. 

I  had  only  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him  as  he  was 
in  a  great  hurry.  I  doubt  if  he  would  have  stopped  at  all  if 
he  had  not  thought  it  just  as  well  to  breath  his  horse  and 
wished  to  boast  to  me  of  his  coming  from  the  town  in  eigh- 
teen minutes. 

My  father,  you  know,  owns  a  few  shares  in  the  bank, 
and  keeps  his  money  there,  but  fortunately  he  had  just 
been  paying  for  some  land  and  his  account  is  therefore  small. 
If  the  bank  had  been  robbed  two  weeks  ago  he  would  have 
lost  several  thousand  dollars.  Knowing,  however,  his  interest 
in  the  bank  I  did  not  tell  him  what  I  had  heard  until  after  he 
had  finished  his  breakfast,  for  I  knew  he  would  go  to  Pom- 
fret  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it,  and  I  thought  he  might  as  well 


OF  THE   ROBBERY.  101 

go  after  a  good  breakfast  as  before;  but  previously  to  going 
in  to  breakfast  I  gave  Andy — the  stable  boy,  you  remember 
— instructions  to  put  Duke  into  a  light  buggy,  so  that  there 
would  be  no  delay  when  we  were  ready  to  start.  We  lost 
no  time  on  the  road  I  can  assure  you. 

It  was  wonderful  with  what  rapidity  the  news  had 
spread. 

There  was  a  crowd  around  the  bank  when  we  got  to  town, 
and  I  could  not  at  first  find  a  place  to  hitch  Duke,  every 
shed  and  hitching  post  seemed  to  be  occupied.  At  last  it 
occurred  to  me  that  as  Ezra  was  away  there  would  be  a  stall 
vacant  in  his  barn,  so  I  drove  up  there  and  got  permission 
of  his  wife  to  hitch  in  the  stable,  because  I  felt  pretty 
sure  that  we  would  stay  in  town  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 

After  I  had  unharnessed  and  blanketed  Duke,  I  went 
back  to  the  bank.  There  was  very  little  to  be  learned  from 
the  crowd.  All  sorts  of  rumors  were  about,  but  they  were 
too  absurd  to  be  remembered.  Both  the  bank  and  the 
Squire's  house  had  a  constable  in  guard  over  them,  and  every 
one  except  the  directors  was  refused  admission.  I  was  not  to 
be  bluffed  in  that  way,  however;  and  as  I  wan  ted  to  see  Aunt 
Martha  and  find  out  how  Mrs.  Vance  was  I  worked  my  way 
out  of  the  crowd,  went  down  the  side  street  and  into  a 
pasture  back  of  the  Squire's  house  and  so  up  into  the  garden 
and  to  the  back  porch.  Fortunately  Aunt  Martha  saw  me 
and  invited  me  in  or  else  I  should  probably  have  been  or- 
dered away,  for  there  was  a  man  at  the  back  of  the  house  to 
keep  people  out  of  the  garden. 

While  I  was  in  the  kitchen  talking  to  Aunt  Martha, 
Mr.  Morrison,  one  of  the  local  lawyers  and  counsel  for  the 
bank,  came  in  to  get  a  drink  of  water,  and  seeing  me  there 
shook  hands  with  me  and  asked  me  to  assist  him,  I  con- 
sented very  gladly,  of  course,  and  now  you  have  the  reason 
of  my  staying  here. 


102  THE   POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

I  found  most  of  the  directors  assembled  in  the  bank- 
parlor  with  Squire  Leslie,  and  they  seemed  glad  to  see  me. 
A  more  confounded  and  dazed  set  of  men  you  never  saw  in 
your  life;  but  I  flatter  myself  that  during  the  two  years 
that  you  and  I  have  been  in  partnership  we  have  tried  too 
many  criminal  cases  for  either  of  us  to  be  fluttered  by  the 
occurrence  of  a  crime  in  which  we  have  no  personal  interest. 

While  I  was  in  the  room  Sheriff  Delaney  came  in.  He 
had  been  sent  for  as  soon  as  the  robbery  had  been  discovered, 
but  as  he  had  been  spending  the  night  at  Pocassett,  ten 
miles  off,  he  had  just  arrived. 

As  you  do  not  know  the  Sheriff  I  think  it  worth  while 
to  describe  him  to  you.  In  the  first  place  he  is  an  old 
soldier  and  acquired  in  the  army  a  military  style  which  he 
has  ever  since  been  carrying  about  with  him  and  nursing 
into  what  I  might  almost  call  a  caricature.  In  the  next 
place  he  is  tall  and  portly,  with  a  strong  commanding  voice 
and  very  resolute  eye.  He  wore  a  dark-blue  frock  coat  with 
brass  buttons  and  heavily  f  rogged,  and  dark  blue  trousers 
with  a  black  braid  down  the  seams.  In  short,  if  you  looked 
at  him  you  would  know  that  he  was  a  policeman,  from  the 
sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  the  soft  felt  army  hat  that 
he  wore  upon  his  head.  He  even  carried  a  club  in  his  hand, 
as  if  he  expected  to  find  the  robbers  waiting  for  him  in  the 
bank. 

He  gave  a  military  salute  to  the  directors,  and  having 
heard  what  they  had  to  say,  began  his  investigation  by  going 
around  the  premises  inside  and  out. 

The  examination  showed  that  the  thieves  had  not  broken 
into  the  bank  from  the  outside,  but  had  used  false  keys  to 
gain  an  easy  entrance.  The  locks  of  the  doors  of  the 
vault  would  not  turn  but  no  signs  of  force  were  apparent 
on  the  steel  and  iron.  It  Avas  not  possible  that  an  explosive 
could  be  used  without  many  people  hearing  the  noise,  and 


NEWS   OF   THE   KOBBEKY.  103 

the  night  had  been  undisturbed.  So  many  people  having 
crowded  around  the  bank,  up  to  its  very  walls,  it  was  im- 
possible to  find  any  footsteps  or  marks  in  the  ground  out- 
side which  would  afford  a  clue  to  the  method  by  which  the 
burglars  removed  their  booty. 

After  a  deal  of  useless  questioning  the  Sheriff  decided 
upon  visiting  the  railroad  station.  I  went  over  with  him, 
for  I  began  to  think  that  he  was  making  an  ass  of  himself. 
While  he  was  talking  to  the  station  master  I  slipped  around 
to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent  the  message  I  told  you  of. 
I  did  not  have  my  cipher  with  me,  but  the  operator  was  an 
old  school-mate  and  friend  of  mine  and  promised  to  keep 
the  telegram  secret.  The  reason  why  I  wish  the  detective 
to  represent  himself  as  a  friend  is  because  these  country 
officials  are  touchy,  and  tenacious  of  their  dignity. 

Fortunately  the  station  master,  who  is  a  sensible  man, 
had  been  himself  about  the  station  during  the  morning 
hours  and  was  positive  that  only  one  passenger  had  taken 
the  train  from  the  station  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and 
five.  That  passenger  had  come  from  Pawtucket.  Having 
missed  the  evening  Boston  train  from  that  place  he  had 
ridden  down  to  Pomfret  on  a  freight  engine,  waited  at  the 
station  an  hour  and  then  taken  the  sleeper  which  passes  at 
four  o'clock  for  Boston.  It  was  quite  impossible  that  he 
could  be  the  thief,  because  the  station  master  was  positive 
that  he  had  come  down  on  the  freight  train. 

Having  learnt  all  that  he  could  from  the  station  master 
the  Sheriff  returned  to  the  bank,  where  the  directors  still 
were,  their  number  augmented  by  one  or  two  who  had  come 
in  since  we  left.  The  cashier,  Ephraim  Chester,  had  also 
arrived  during  our  absence,  and  explained  his  delay  in  com- 
ing by  stating  that  Dr.  Gamble  had  given  him  a  dose  of 
valerian  the  night  before,  in  consequence  whereof  he  had 
not  awakened  until  a  short  time  ago. 


104  THE  POMFRET  MY8TERT. 

Sheriff  Delaney  sat  himself  down  at  the  table,  and  tak- 
ing a  sheet  of  paper  began  an  examination  of  the  directors, 
making  notes  as  he  went  on.  In  a  little  while  it  became 
clear  to  me  that  in  default  of  any  other  likely  theory  he 
suspected  the  directors  of  being  in  some  way  concerned  in 
the  robbery  or  accessory  to  it.  I  saw  in  this  earlier  than  the 
others,  but  it  soon  became  so  plain  that  every  one  else  saw  it 
too,  and  I  could  see  that  their  answers  were  becoming  more 
and  more  indignant.  Finally  Mr.  Morrison,  who  is  a  gruff 
sort  of  fellow,  spoke  up  and  demanded  to  know  which  of  the 
directors  the  Sheriff  thought  was  the  thief.  Delaney  was 
staggered  at  this,  for  he  had  much  reverence  for  the  powers 
that  be,  and  he  made  a  hasty  disclaimer  of  any  such  sus- 
picion and  a  rather  lame  apology  for  some  of  his  questions. 
To  relieve  him  of  his  embarrassment  I  whispered  to  him  a 
suggestion  that  it  might  be  well  to  start  clever  men  out  in 
various  directions  to  see  if  they  could  find  any  trace  of  the 
thieves.  He  took  my  suggestion  in  good  part  and  after  a 
few  aimless  questions  put  it  out  as  his  own.  Most  of  the 
directors  immediately  expressed  their  willingness  to  take 
certain  roads  and  we  easily  enlisted  others  from  the  crowd 
outside,  so  that  some  thirty,  all  told,  were  to  scour  the 
country  and  report  at  the  bank  at  noon  to-morrow.  I  send 
you  a  list  of  their  names  and  the  routes  each  took. 

I  am  writing  you  this  at  home.  It  is  past  eleven 
at  night  and  I  am  tired  out,  so  I  shall  go  to  bed  and  write 
you  more  in  the  morning.  One  of  the  men  will  take  this 
now  down  to  Pomfret  and  see  that  it  gets  into  the  mail  car 
on  the  New  York  Express  which  passes  at  2:30,  so  you 
ought  to  get  it  at  noon  to-morrow. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  your  telegram  was  received. 
Some  one  will  be  at  the  depot  to  meet  Mr.  Price,  the  detec- 
tive, and  he  will  come  right  here.  There  has  been  a  murder 
here,  but  I  know  none  of  the  details  as  yet  and  am  not  much 


ANOTHER   LETTER.  105 

interested  about  it  unless  it  is  in  some  way  connected  with 
the  robbery.     Good  night. 

Sincereiy  your  partner, 

BENJAMIN  T.  MOORE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ANOTHER  LETTER. 

WOODSIDE,  April  4,  18 — 

To  OLIVER  LORING,  ESQ.,  etc.: 

DEAR  LORING:  After  writing  you  last  night  I 
went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  fatigued  and  of  the 
just,  and  now  I  am  up  bright  and  early,  have  had  a  glass 
of  milk  fresh  from  tb^  cow,  taken  a  turn  through  the  barns 
and  sit  down  to  write  you  until  breakfast,  or  until  Price 
comes. 

After  we  had  fixed  the  routes  and  chosen  the  emissaries 
of  justice  as  mentioned  to  you  in  my  last  letter  the  directors 
formally  passed  a  resolution  offering  a  reward  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars  for  the  capture  of  the  thieves  or  the  return 
of  the  stolen  property,  and  a  reward  of  fifty  dollars  for  in- 
formation of  the  route  taken  by  them  in  their  flight. 
Handbills  were  struck  off,  and  we  soon  had  a  sufficient 
number  for  the  messengers  to  distribute.  We  relied  on  the 
Associate  Press  to  spread  wider  the  news  of  the  robbery  and 
of  the  reward. 

By  one  o'clock  all  the  messengers  had  had  their  dinners, 
fed  their  horses  and  started  off  and  then  at  the  Squire's  in- 
vitation those  of  the  directors  who  remained  and  myself 
went  into  the  Squire's  to  dinner.  Doctor  Gamble  was  there. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Mrs.  Vance  has  a  severe  attack  of 
brain  fever  and  the  Doctor  thinks  it  a  very  grave  case. 


106  THE  POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

The  absence  of  Arthur  Vance  at  this  time  perplexes  me. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  the  Squire  and  of  every  one  that  I  have 
heard  mention  the  subject,  that  he  will  return  as  soon  as  he 
sees  the  notice  of  the  robbery  in  the  newspapers.  I  never 
liked  him,  but  he  has  certainly  made  friends,  and  warm 
friends,  of  everybody  here. 

I  have  arranged  that  nothing  in  the  bank  shall  be  dis- 
turbed until  to-morrow  afternoon.  By  that  time  we  shall 
have  had  the  report  of  our  travelers,  and  Price  will  be  here 
and  have  had  a  look  at  everything.  I  am  glad  Sneeden  has 
detailed  him,  for  I  have  every  possible  confidence  in  his 
ability.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  no  one  has  yet  thought  of 
calling  upon  the  city  detectives.  You  may  be  sure  I  did 
not  suggest  it,  although  the  more  I  see  of  Sheriff  Delaney 
the  more  unbearably  pompous  he  becomes. 

Ephraim  Chester,  the  cashier,  went  to  Boston  to  ar- 
range for  a  loan  for  temporary  purposes.  A  new  bank  will 
open  to-morrow  in  Mr.  Mountain's  office  for  the  convenience 
of  mill-owners,  although  I  do  not  believe  that  any  of  the 
tradespeople  will  put  their  money  out  of  their  sight  for  a 
long  time  to  come;  they  are  too  much  shocked  at  finding 
that  the  bank  was  not  unimpregnable. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  a  great  state  of  excitement 
the  town  was  in  yesterday.  The  mills  had  shut  down,  not 
having  cash  enough  for  present  needs  and  because  every  one 
was  too  excited  to  work.  The  vast  body  of  operatives  in 
the  streets  were  reinforced  by  men,  women  and  children 
from  the  country  round  about.  The  railroad  company  and 
the  Post  Office  authorities  had  promptly  transmitted  to  their 
agents  money  enough  for  present  needs,  but  a  great  many  of 
the  shopkeepers  were  left  almost  penniless.  Sheriff  Delaney 
has  been  emphatically  the  biggest  toad  in  the  puddle  and 
has  lost  his  head  with  a  excessive  self-consciousness  of  his 
own  importance.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  help  me,  but  of 


ANOTHER  LETTEE. 


107 


course  we  cannot  both  be  away  from  the  office  at  the  same 
time.  I  have  to  thank  you  for  one  thing,  however.  If  it 
had  not  been  that  I  wished  to  write  you  this  letter  I  should 
not  have  been  up  early  enough  to  see  the  sunrise.  It  was 
really  a  sight  worth  seeing,  for  I  have  not  seen  one  for  two 
years.  The  trees  are  really  budding  and  the  grass  is  already 
green.  Kobins  were  seen  on  the  lawn  this  morning  for  the 
first  time. 

POMFRET,  9  A.M. 

I  continue  this  letter  at  Mr.  Morrison's  office.  Price 
has  come.  He  arrived  at  seven  and  had  a  good  appetite  for 
breakfast,  and  mother  was  delighted  at  the  way  that  he  dis- 
posed of  her  coffee,  fricasseed  chicken  and  bannocks. 

He  seems  to  be  really  glad  to  get  into  the  country,  and 
would  not  let  me  say  a  word  about  business  until  I  had 
shown  him  through  the  barns  and  partly  over  the  farm.  It 
was  not  until  I  was  driving  him  to  town  that  I  could  tell 
him  what  I  knew  about  the  case,  and  it  was  then  that  we 
arranged  that  he  should  represent  himself  to  be  a  friend 
and  client  who  had  come  to  consult  me  about  a  case  in  New 
York  and  whom  I  had  persuaded  to  remain  over. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  town,  having  put  Duke  up  at  the 
hotel,  we  went  first  to  Sheriff  Delaney's  house,  but  he  was  not 
in,  so  leaving  word  that  we  would  be  back  in  half  an  hour  we 
took  a  walk  through  the  town.  Then  we  went  back  to 
Delaney's  house. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  meeting  between  the 
two  men.  I  have  already  described  the  Sheriff  to  you  as  a 
pompous  fellow,  tall  and  burly,  and  Price,  you  know,  is  just 
the  reverse;  small,  slight,  partly  bald,  with  a  thin  low  voice 
and  quiet  manner.  He  was  dressed  very  plainly  too  without 
a  particle  of  the  "  shop  "  about  him.  His  face  looked  more 
weazened  than  ever  by  the  side  of  the  Sheriff's  ruddy  coun- 


108  THE   POMFKET   MYSTERY. 

tenance;  his  fingers  seemed  more  long,  crooked  and  claw- 
like  when  clasped  in  the  big,  fat,  pudgy  hand  of  the  Sheriff. 

"  Captain  Delaney,"  said  I,  in  introducing  the  two  men, 
"  this  is  Mr.  Price,  of  New  York,  who  has  come  up  here  to 
see  me  on  business  and  to  stay  over  with  me  a  day  or  two. 
I  wished  him  to  know  you." 

Delaney  gave  his  military  salute.  I  noticed  a  slight 
twitching  about  the  corners  of  Price's  mouth,  but  that  was 
the  only  sign  I  detected  of  his  being  amused. 

"  Mr.  Price,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "  I  am  glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance." 

"  And  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,"  said  Price 
pleasantly.  "  Mr.  Moore  has  often  told  me  about  you. 
Now  there  was  the  case  of  Bob  Simpson,  who  robbed  the 
widow  Langdon  and  hid  in  the  woods.  That  was  a  master- 
piece of  detective  work." 

Where  on  earth  Price  had  picked  up  this  piece  of  in- 
formation I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  I  a  confident,  how- 
ever, that  I  never  told  him  about  it,  but  of  course  I  held 
my  tongue. 

Wherever  the  information  came  from  the  case  was  an 
actual  one  of  the  Sheriff's,  and  Price's  mention  of  it  had  a 
wonderful  effect  upon  him.  He  beamed  with  delight  and 
fairly  bubbled  over  with  joy  and  insisted  on  "telling  the  his- 
tory of  the  case.  From  that  he  got  off  upon  his  life  since, 
and  finally,  after  half  an  hour's  wandering,  got  around  to  the 
robbery  of  the  bank.  Price  increased  his  attention.  Dela- 
ney was  of  course  flattered  and  ended  by  telling  all  that  he 
had  done  in  the  case. 

"  Ah,  Captain  Delaney,"  Price  said,  "  if  ever  I  need  a  de- 
tective I  shall  certainly  send  for  you." 

The  extreme  sarcasm  of  this  speech  was  lost  upon 
Delaney,  but  it  amused  me  infinitely. 

"And  now,"  said  I,  "I  shall  leave  Mr.  Price  in  your 


ANOTHEK  LETTER. 


10Q 


hands  for  a  little  while,  Mr.   Sheriff.     I  will  meet  you 

later." 

"You   must  come  back  and  dine  with  me,"  said  the 

Sheriff;  "  we  dine  at  one." 

"  All  right,"  said  I,  and  I  went  off  to  the  Squire's,  not 
unwilling  to  get  a  chance  to  talk  with  Aunt  Martha  alone. 

"You  are  an  utter  stranger  and  do  not  know  Aunt 
Martha,  so  I  will  tell  you  about  her.     She  makes  her  home 
at  the  Squire's,  but  for  the  last  thirty  years  has  wandered 
hither  and  thither,  turning  her  hand  to  whatever  is  wanted, 
able,  in  the  estimation  of  the  country  people,  to  do  every- 
thing.    A  better  housekeeper  and  cook  never  lived.     She 
is  equally  good  as  a  nurse  or  a  seamstress.     She  is  a  first 
cousin  of  Ethel's  mother  and  an  old  mail  with  a  marvelous 
clairvoyant  faculty  of  joy  or  grief  and  of  turning  up  when 
she  is  most  wanted.  She  goes  about  from  house  to  house,  stay- 
ing as  long  as  she  is  useful,  but  taking  no  pay  except  her 
board  for  any  service  she  renders.     She  is  apt  to  be  blunt 
and  truthful  in  her  speech;  her  ways  are  often  odd  and  ec- 
centric; people  laugh  at  her  without  malice  in  their  hilarity 
and  without  esteeming  her  the  less.     In  person  she  is  tall 
and  thin,  as  New  England  women  often  are,  angular  but 
square  shouldered  and  muscular.     Her  hair,  which  is  sparse 
and  streaked  with  gray,  is  always  done  up  into  a  tight  knot 
at  the  back  of  her  head.    Her  eyes  are  a  dull  gray,  but  much 
sharper  than  one  would  suppose,  and  are  always  covered  by 
a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  spectacles.     Her  nose  is  sharp,  her 
lips  thin  and  her  face  rather  pointed.     She  is  exquisitely 
neat  in  her  dress,  wearing  the  snowiest  collars  and  cuffs. 
There  is  always  an  odor  of  lavender,  bergamot  and  sweet 
marjoram  about  her,  and  it  is  a  common  remark  about  the 
country  that  the  sight   and  smell  of  Aunt  Martha  do  as 
much  good  to  many  a  sick  person  as  the  doctor's  medicines. 
No  other  ten  persons  in  Pomfret  possess  half  the  num- 


110 


THE   POMFKET  MYSTEEY. 


ber  of  confidences  "  entrusted  to  a  friend  "  as  Aunt  Martha, 
who,  though  she  lets  her  tongue  run  on  at  a  great  rate 
sometimes,  never  tells  what  she  ought  not  to  tell.  She  is 
not  a  beautiful  woman  by  any  means,  but  has  such  a  good- 
natured  expression  on  her  face,  that,  after  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  her,  you  are  pleased  to  have  her  about.  She  has 
an  incorrigible  habit  of  commencing  her  sentence  with 
"Want  to  know!  Du  tell!"  and  other  like  Yankeeisms. 
Add  to  my  description  that  she  is  fifty  years  old  and  you 
have  some  sort  of  an  idea  of  the  kind  of  woman  that  she  is. 
Well,  I  went  to  the  Squire's  and  around  to  the  kitchen 
door,  and  got  there  just  as  Aunt  Martha  came  out  to  draw 
some  water  from  the  well/ 

:'  Want  to  know  ! "  she  said;  "  is  that  you,  Benny?" 
'''  Yes,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  I,  "  how  is  Ethel  to-day  ?" 
"  Bad.    Very  bad,"  she  answered.  "  Ain't  you  heard  that 
her  child  was  born  dead  this  morning  ?    Want  to  know  I 
Poor  creetur  I    Doctor  says  he  can't  tell  whether  she'll  live 
or  not;  thinks  she  will.     She's  got  a  good  constitution;  all 
the  Wilkinsons  have.      Her  mother  was  a  Wilkinson,  you 
know.      Folks  say  that's   where   I   get  my  constitution. 
Sakes  alive,  how  I'm  a  talkin  !  Come  into  the  kitchen." 

"  Aunt  Martha,"  said  I,  "  what  do  you  think  of  Vance's 
absence  ?  " 

Aunt  Martha  stopped  in  her  work  and  came  close  up  to 
me  and  looked  me  fair  and  square  in  the  eyes.     "Want 
to  know,"  she  said,  "what  do  I  think?    Well,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  think,  only  don't  go  blabbin'  it  around.     I  think 
he's  a  gone  off  and  ain't  a  comin'  back." 
'''  You  never  liked  him,"  I  remarked. 
"  No,  I  never  did,  though  he  kind  o'  slipped  round  me 
towards  the  last,"  she  answered. 

"Do  you  think  Ethel  knows  about  it?" 

"  Du  tell.     Now  you've  just  hit  the  nail  on  the  head.    I 


AKOTHER  LETTER. 


Ill 


do  think  that  Ethel  knows  about  it,  and  that  that  is  just 
what  the  matter  is.  Looks  to  me  as  if  it  was  her  husband's 
going  off  that's  pretty  nigh  killed  her." 

"  Aunt  Martha,  did  you  hear  any  noise  that  night?" 
"  Not  a  sound,  Benny,  not  a  sound.  I  generally  sleep 
pretty  light  too.  But  then  I  was  in  the  wing  and  pretty 
tired  that  night,  for  I  had  been  a  settin'  up  with  Hetty 
Bowman's  husband,  him  as  fell  from  the  hay  mow  in  his  barn 
the  other  day  and  broke  his  collar  bone,  and  I  guess  I  slept 
sounder  than  usual." 

"  Did  the  Squire  hear  anything." 

"  Says  he  didn't  hear  a  sound.  But  then  the  Squire's  old, 
you  know,  and,  I  think,  gettin'  a  little  deef,  so  I  don't  think 
its  likely  that  any  ordinary  noise  would  wake  him.  But 
I  guess  Ethel  was  waked  and  saw  something  that  has  taken 
away  her  wits  for  a  while." 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  her?" 
"  Want  to  know  !  Now  see  here,  Benny,  you  always  liked 
Ethel.  Afore  that  Vance  came  I  used  to  think  you  and 
she  would  hitch  up  and  make  a  pair,  but  he  got  around  her 
with  his  city  manners.  For  you  wern't  the  same  then, 
Benny,  that  you  are  now  after  two  years  of  city  life.  Seems 
funny  for  you  to  ask  me  that  question,  for  I  guess  there's 
only  one  thing  you  can  do  for  her,  and  that's  the  last  thing 
that  you'll  want  to  do,  and  that  is  to  bring  her  husband 
back  to  her." 

"  You're  right,  Aunt  Martha,  it  won't  be  any  too  pleas- 
ant, but  I'll  try  to  do  it." 

Aunt  Martha  came  right  up  and  kissed  me.  I  was  so  as- 
tonished that  you  could  have  knocked  me  over  with  a 
feather.  So  was  she,  for  it  had  been  the  impulse  of  the 
moment. 

"Well,  never  mind,  Benny,"  she  said,  blushing,  "I've 
known  you  from  a  baby  and  kissed  you  many  a  tune  then. 


112  THE  POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

But  don't  you  go  and  tell  any  of  the  men  folks,  or  else  they'll 
get  the  laugh  on  me." 

Fortunately  just  then  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  Sheriff 
and  Price  outside,  and  in  a  few  hurried  words  I  told  Aunt 
Martha  the  truth  about  him. 

"Want  to  know  !  Don't  you  worry,  I  won't  tell  a  soul 
about  him.  Let  me  get  a  look  at  him. "  And  she  ran  to 
the  window  where  she  could  see  them.  "  Du  tell  !  So 
that's  the  celebrated  Price  that  got  all  the  money  back  for 
the  Quincy  Bank.  He's  mighty  sharp,  though,  saw  me 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  him.  He's  a  comin'  this  way. 
Oh,  Benny,  what  shall  I  do,  I  ain't  fit  to  be  seen  by  com- 
pany." 

"  Never  mind,  Aunt  Martha,"  said  I  laughing,  for  sure 
enough  the  Sheriff  and  Price  were  coming  to  the  kitchen 
door,  "  give  him  a  glass  of  milk  and  a  doughnut  and  he 
will  like  you  better  than  if  you  were  dressed  in  silks  and 
satins." 

Aunt  Martha  bustled  into  the  pantry  and  emerged  with 
a  plate  of  doughnuts  in  one  hand  and  a  pitcher  of  milk  in 
the  other  just  as  the  two  men  entered.  Sheriff  Delaney 
was  about  to  introduce  the  detective  in  his  grand  way,  but 
Price,  who  took  in  the  situation  in  a  moment,  stopped  him 
and  said: 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  needed  any  introduction  to  Miss 
Martha  Wilkinson.  Why,  madam,  Mr.  Moore  has  told  me 
so  often  about  you  and  your  good  deeds  that  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  known  you  for  a  long  time." 

That's  lie  number  two,  I  thought.  Price  must  be  get- 
ting interested  in  the  case. 

Aunt  Martha  blushed  and  smiled  with  pleasure  at  being 
known  to  the  detective  and  offered  him  the  milk  and  the 
doughnuts. 

"Thank  you,  madam.     Thank  you,"  he  said,  "it  does 


ANOTHER  LETTER. 


113 


one  good  to  taste  pure  country  milk  again,  but  the  Sheriff 
was  just  agoin'  to  show  the  bank  where  the  robbery  occurred, 
and  if  you'll  permit  me  I'll  step  in  there  for  a  minute  and 
take  a  look  around  and  then  come  in  here  again." 

So  saying  he  was  out  into  the  hall  in  a  minute,  and  when 
Delaney  and  I  followed,  which  we  did  immediately,  he  was 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  at  the  door  leading  into  the  bank. 

The  Sheriff  opened  the  door,  which  was  not  locked,  and 
ushered  us  into  the  bank  Price  went  softly  over  the  desks, 
looked  into  the  drawers,  found  a  few  scraps  of  torn  papers 
in  one  of  the  waste  paper  baskets,  which  he  took  up  and 
slipped  into  his  pocket,  went  quickly  over  the  windows  and 
their  fastenings,  examined  the  door  back  of  the  bank 
and  then  came  fcack  to  the  vault  and  took  a  look  at  the 
doors  of  the  safe. 

Then  the  Sheriff  left  him  for  a  minute  and  went  to  the 
Directors'  room.  Quick  as  a  flash,  but  quietly  as  a  cat,  Price 
was  at  the  locks  of  the  safe.  He  pushed  one  tumbril  here, 
another  there,  and  turned  the  handle.  The  bolts  slipped 
backwards  and  forwards  noiselessly.  He  slipped  the  tumbrils 
out  of  place  again  and  turning  to  me  with  gleam  of  delight 
in  his  eyes  said, 

"I  thought  so." 

For  my  part  I  was  greatly  surprised. 

Going  out  Price  was  half  way  up  the  stairs  before  we 
could  stop  him.  He  came  down  with  apologies;  said  he 
thought  that  was  the  way  to  the  kitchen.  As  we  went 
through  the  hall,  the  Sheriff  leading,  Price  stooped  down 
and  began  picking  at  something  in  the  carpet  on  the  floor. 

"  That's  a  pity/'  he  said;  "  how  did  it  come  there?" 

I  looked  down  and  saw  drops  of  wax.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know,"  said  I. 

"  You  know  of  course  ! "  said  Price  looking  at  the  Sheriff. 

"I?  Oh  no  !  A  mere  trifle — a  mere  trifle." 


114  THE  POMF&ET  MYSTE&Y. 

Price  rose  up  immediately.  I  thought  he  was  going  to 
say  something,  but  instead  he  only  went  on  into  the 
kitchen. 

I  cannot  tell  how  it  came  about,  but  in  fifteen  minutes 
Aunt  Martha  with  a  hot  flat  iron,  and  Price  with  a  sheet  of 
newspaper,  were  down  on  their  knees  taking  the  grease  from 
the  carpet.  I  know  Price  began  by  praising  the  milk  and 
doughnuts  and,  speaking  about  the  neatness  of  the  house, 
mentioned  the  grease  spots  in  the  hall. 

They  were  absent  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  the 
Sheriff  was  getting  rather  impatient,  so  I  offered  him  a  cigar 
to  keep  him  in  good  humor  and  we  went  out  on  the  back 
porch  to  smoke. 

When  Price  joined  us  he  was  very  thoughtful,  but  after  a 
glance  at  the  Sheriff  he  changed  his  mood. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  said;  "but when  I 
was  a  small  boy  I  used  to  help  my  mother  about  the  house, 
and  it  is  really  a  pleasure  to  do  a  little  housework  again. 
We  all  have  our  failings,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and  I  confess  that 
home  life  is  one  of  mine;  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me  for  leav- 
ing you. " 

This  apology  put  the  Sheriff  into  good  humor  again.  He 
felt  that  the  stranger  was  deferring  to  his  superior  wisdom, 
and  he  then  very  graciously  asked  us  if  he  could  show  us 
anything  else. 

In  half  a  minute  Price  had  looked  back  in  his  memory  to 
the  report  of  the  Sheriff  and  found  that  there  had  been  an 
examination  of  the  station  master. 

"  There  is  not  anything  else,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  he  said;  "you 
have  been  very  kind  in  showing  me  about,  now  I'll  just  step 
over  to  the  telegraph  office  and  send  a  word  or  two  to  New 
York.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  come  over,  Mr.  Moore 
will  show  me  the  way,  and  then  we'll  step  back  to  your 
house  and  accept  your  invitation  to  dinner  at  one. " 


ANOTHER  LETTER.  115 

"Well,"  said  Price,  as  we  were  crossing  over  to  the  depot, 
"  I'll  warrant  that  when  you  were  a  young  fellow  you  thought 
that  man  one  of  the  finest  police  officers  and  shrewdest  de- 
tectives in  the  world.  But  now  tell  me  who  is  the  telegraph 
operator  over  here  ?  " 

I  told  him. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I've  known  him  ever  since  we  were  boys  together,"  I  an- 
swered; "whatever  telegram  you  send  he  will  not  divulge 
its  contents." 

"  And  the  station  agent?  Do  you  know  him?" 

"  He  was  born  and  brought  up  here." 

"  Then  give  me  a  chance  to  have  a  quiet  talk  with  him." 

I  introduced  him  to  Harry  Bowne,  the  station  master,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  they  were  deep  in  conversation  about  the 
robbery.  Price  listened  to  him  very  patiently  and  then  said, 
"  Come  out,  won't  you,  and  show  me  the  exact  spot  where 
the  engine  stood." 

They  went  out  together  and  I  followed  after. 

"The  engine  stood  right  here,"  said  Bowne;  "I  was 
standing  there  by  the  telegraph  office  talking  to  the  con- 
ductor of  the  freight  train  when  I  first  saw  him.  He  was 
striking  a  match  and  my  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
light  of  it.  Both  he  and  the  engineer  of  the  train  lighted 
their  cigars  and  he  stood  there  talking  until  the  train  started, 
then  he  came  up  to  me  pulling  a  small  leather  trunk  after 
him.  He  asked  me  if  I  was  the  watchmen  and  I  told  him 
I  was  the  station  agent.  He  said  he  came  from  Pawtucket 
and  wanted  to  get  to  Boston  early.  I  asked  him  why  he  had 
not  taken  last  night's  train  on  the  Massachusetts  road.  He 
said  he  had  missed  it  there  by  a  few  minutes  and  that  the 
station  agent  there  had  told  him  that  if  he  could  get  to 
Pomf  ret  he  could  catch  the  New  York  sleeping  train,  which 
was  due  in  Boston  about  5:30.  That  then  the  freight 


116  THE   POMFEET  MYSTERY. 

train  had  come  along  and  the  engineer  had  brought  him 
down  on  the  engine." 

"  Did  you  stand  still  all  this  time  ?  "  asked  Price. 

"  Oh  no  ! "  said  Bowne.  "  I  put  his  trunk  into  the  bag- 
gage room  and  we  walked  up  and  down  the  platform  until 
the  train  came  along.  He  was  smoking  and  he  gave  me  a 
cigar." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  it  ?  "  This  was  asked  humorously. 

"  Smoked  it  of  course." 

"  Then  let  me  offer  you  another." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  not  as  good  as  the  one  the  stranger  gave 

you." 

"Well  that  ivas  a  good  one.  It  was  a  ring  one — like 
this." 

"You  didn't  smoke  the  ring?"  said  Price  laughing. 

"No!   I  threw  that  away." 

Price  seemed  pretty  well  satisfied  that  the  station  agent 
had  no  more  information  to  impart,  so  he  talked  on  other 
subjects  until  the  station  agent  left  us.  We  were  walking 
up  and  down  the  platform  while  Bowne  was  talking  and  I 
noticed  that  Price  kept  his  eyes  closely  to  the  ground. 
After  Bowne  had  left  us  Price  went  back  and  picked  some- 
thing up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"What  is  it  "I  asked. 

He  showed  it  to  me.     It  was  a  band  off  of  a  cigar. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  me,  "  have  you  anything  to  do  ?" 

I  told  him  I  wished  to  write  you. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "go  and  write  your  letter.  I  will 
step  in  and  say  a  few  more  words  to  Aunt  Martha.  She's 
the  most  sensible  person  I've  seen  in  Pomfret.  Stop  for  me 
there  when  you  are  through  and  we'll  go  to  the  Sheriff's 
together  for  dinner;  and  see  if  you  can't  arrange  to  let  me 


ONE   MOKE   LETTER.  117 

hear  the  reports  of  the  messengers  that  the  bank  sent  out 
yesterday." 

So  I  am  writing  this  letter  from  Mr.  Morrison's  office. 
Good  bye. 

Sincerely  your  partner, 
BENJAMIN  T.  MOOKE. 


CHAPTEK  XV. 

ONE  MOBE  LETTER. 

WOODSIDE,  April  4th,  18 — . 
To  OLIVER  LORING,  ESQ.,  etc.: 

DEAR  LORING: — To  continue  where  I  left  off.  We 
went  to  the  Sheriff's  to  dinner.  I  rather  expected  to  be 
bored  but  fortunately  was  not.  Hearing  the  reports  of  the 
messengers  took  us  all  the  afternoon,  so  that  it  was  not  until 
four  o'clock  that  Price  and  myself  found  ourselves  seated  in 
the  buggy  whirling  away  towards  home.  I  did  not  take  the 
direct  road  but  went  around  through  the  woods,  by  way  of 
Haresville,  and  I  think  Price  enjoyed  the  drive.  Price  took 
much  pleasure  afterwards  in  seeing  the  cows  milked,  and 
made  friends  with  all  the  horses  and  dogs  immediately. 

After  tea  we  were  sitting  by  ourselves  in  the  piazza 
smoking,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  had  formed  any  theory  as 
to  the  robbery. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  slowly  removing  the  cigar  from  his  lips, 
"  there  are  some  things  about  it  which  I  do  not  understand. 
To  my  mind  it  is  clear  that  the  robbery  had  been  planned 
long  before  and  was  done  by  two  or  three  old  hands.  I 
know  of  two  men  only  who  could  have  accomplished  the 
matter  so  neatly.  But  one  thing  I  am  very  sure  about, 
there  was  collusion  with  some  one  in  the  bank/' 

"  Who  was  it,  do  you  think?" 


118  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"That  I  don't  know.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
cashier  was  fast  asleep  during  the  night;  the  doctor's  evi- 
dence proves  that  very  conclusively.  The  Squire  says  he 
was  also  asleep — we  have  only  his  word  for  it,  but  then  it 
was  not  the  Squire.  My  whole  experience  is  at  fault  if 
Squire  Leslie  by  word  or  deed  knowingly  helped  the  matter 
on.  None  of  the  directors  could  have  afforded  any  sub- 
stantial assistance.  Aunt  Martha  is  out  of  the  question. 
The  only  two  persons  who  have  not  satisfactorily  accounted 
for  their  whereabouts  are  Mrs.  Vance  and  her  husband. 
She  is  ill,  too  ill,  of  course,  to  be  seen.  And  her  husband  is 
absent.  Now  give  me  a  description  of  Mr.  Vance." 

"  I  am  not  a  good  man  to  do  that,"  I  answered,  "  for  I 
confess  to  a  very  great  prejudice  against  him." 

"  Well,  I'll  discount  that,"  said  Price;  "  go  on  and  tell  me 
at  length  about  his  personal  appearance  and  personal 
characteristics." 

As  I  have  already  described  Vance  to  you,  my  dear 
Loring,  I  need  not  repeat  what  I  said  to  Price,  but  I  will 
only  say  that  he  heard  me  very  patiently  and  was  silent  for 
some  time  after  I  had  finished.  Not  wishing  to  disturb 
him  I  lighted  my  cigar  afresh — it  had  gone  out  while  I  was 
talking.  The  burning  match  made  a  little  circle  of  light 
about  us,  and  happening  to  glance  at  him  I  saw  that  his  face 
wore  an  abstracted,  unusual  look.  I  had  but  a  momentary 
glance,  when  the  match  went  out,  but  the  look  was  such  as 
a  hunter  might  have  tracking  his  game.  He  would  never 
have  allowed  his  face  to  so  express  his  thoughts  if  he  had 
not  counted  on  the  darkness  as  a  mask.  Still  from  what 
I  saw  I  felt  confident  that  he  had  some  one  in  his  mind 
as  the  robber. 

At  last  he  spoke,  "I  wish  I  knew  his  exact  height  and 
weight,"  he  said. 

"  I  can  give  you  those/'  I  answered,  "  or,  to  speak  more 


ONE   MOKE   LETTEK.  119 

correctly  his  height  and  weight  three  years  ago.  You  see 
the  Fall  after  he  first  came  here  there  was  the  usual  and 
customary  fair.  There  were  a  lot  of  us  at  the  Fair-grounds 
discussing  the  weight  of  some  cattle  and  something  was 
then  said  about  the  difficulty  of  guessing  at  the  right  weight 
of  men.  We  therefore  made  bets  as  to  the  weights  of 
various  members  of  the  party — Vance  among  the  number — 
and  went  to  the  scales,  where  we  were  weighed.  I  am  quite 
confident  that  I  put  the  weights  down  in  a  memorandum 
book  which  I  think  I  can  find  upstairs." 

"  Would  you  mind  going  to  look?"  asked  Price. 
"Well,  see  here,  Price,"  I  said,  "it  is  evident  that  you 
suppose  that  Vance  is  in  some  way  connected  with  the  rob- 
bery. Now  I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  I  was  once  in  love 
with  his  wife  and  do  not,  for  that  matter,  hate  her  now.  So 
once  for  all  I  tell  you  now  that  I  shall  not  knowingly  give 
you  any  information  which  may  tend  to  injure  her  or  her 
husband.  I  fear  I  have  already  said  too  much,  and  that  it 
would  have  been  better  to  have  let  you  get  your  informa- 
tion elsewhere." 

Price  was  silent  a  little  while  and  then  he  spoke. 
"  I  supposed  that  you  might  feel  like  that,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  all  about  your  love  for  Ethel  Leslie;  Aunt  Martha 
did  not  tell  it  to  me  in  words,  but  I  guessed  it  from  what 
she  said.  But  I  see  I  have  got  to  trust  you  with  something 
I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you.  She  is  under  arrest  now  at  her 
father's  house  and  as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  move  will  be 
taken  to  jail." 

"  Did  you  dare  to  accuse  her?"    I  said  angrily. 
"//  No,  most  assuredly  not,  but  that  fool  of  a  Sheriff  did 
before  I  reached  here." 

"  She  is  as  innocent  as  I  am,"  I  said  warmly. 
"  That  I  am  positive  of,"  said  Price;  "  but  at  the  same 
time  there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  she  has  known 


120  THE    POMFEET   MYSTERY. 

something  about  the  robbery  and  that  the  shock  of  that 
knowledge  is  what  has  brought  about  her  illness.  The 
Doctor  agrees  with  me  in  that,  although  he  would  stake  his 
life  on  her  innocence." 

I  confess  that  I  was  stunned  at  what  Price  had  said. 
"  Now  that  I  have  told  you  so  much,"  continued  Price, 
"  I  shall  tell  you  what  I  discovered  while  I  was  with  Aunt 
Martha  cleansing  the  carpet  in  the  hall  of  those  grease  spots. 
In  the  first  place  the  grease  spots  lay  in  a  cluster  on  the 
carpet  just  away  and  back  from  the  doorway  between  the 
bank  and  the  Squire's  house,  exactly  in  the  position  where 
a  person,  standing  on  the  stairs  and  looking  through  the 
glass  transom  over  the  door,  would  have  dropped  them  from 
a  candle  held  in  the  hand  resting  against  the  banisters. 
Then  again  there  were  no  grease  spots  on  the  stairs  until 
we  came  to  the  step  on  which  such  a  person  would  have 
stood.  There  we  found  grease  spots  again  and  from  that 
step  a  line  of  them  led  us  to  Mrs.  Vance's  door  and  into  her 
room;  to  make  more  certain  Aunt  Martha  brought  me  the 
night  dress  and  wrapper  worn  by  Mrs.  Vance  that  night, 
and  there  were  grease  spots  on  that.  Again,  the  grease  spots 
had  a  pinkish  hue,  and  Mrs.  Vance  is  the  only  one  who  has 
pink  wax  candles  in  her  room." 

"  But  the  doctor  and  Aunt  Martha;  how  could  they  con- 
sent to  assist  you  in  fastening  a  knowledge  of  the  crime 
upon  Ethel?" 

"  They  knew  she  was  innocent,  and  they  knew  also  that 
the  chances  of  bringing  her  reason  back  were  better  if  they 
could  know  what  the  shock  was  that  had  prostrated  her. 
But  I  have  not  finished  yet.  There  were  grease  spots,  three 
in  number,  on  the  floor  of  the  bank.  Two  were  close  to  the 
safe  doors,  the  third  was  inside  the  vault,  and  those  drops 
of  wax  were  pink." 

"  But  if  Ethel  knew  of  the  robbery  why  did,  she  not  give 
the  alarm  ?" 


121 

ONE  MOEE  LETTER. 

«  I  confess  that  is  what  puzzles  me.  But  Heel  as  if  I 
had  two  things  to  do;  the  first  is  to  prove  Mrs.  Vance  mno- 
"Ihe  second  is  to'  find  the  thieve.  And  I  want  vou  to 


want  her  husband's  weight  and  height?' 

I  went  up  stairs,  got  the  book  and  brought  it  down  open 
at  the  pJe  where  I  had  jotted  down  Vance's  weigh  and 
height  He  was  five  feet,  eight  and  one  quartermches  tall, 
and  weighed  one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  pounds 

«  Well  »  said  Price,  «  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  knew 
the  man.'    Let  me  tell  you  how.     Some  fifteen  years  ago 
when  I  was  only  a  novice  at  detective  work  a  gentleman  s 
country  seat  up  the  Hudson  was  robbed.     Barney  Jacob^ 
who  was  the  best  detective  we  ever  had  on  the  New  York 
force,  was  detailed  and  asked  for  me  to  assist  him      We  cap- 
tured the  thief  and  turned  him  over  to  the  authorities  at 
Poughkeepsie  and  they  let  him  go;   or  at  all  events  he 
Lfhow  escaped  from  jail.     That  fellow  was  a  good  look- 
ing  young  man  about  thirty-one.     He  made  a  good  haul  of 
jewels  and  silverware,  none  of  which  was  recovered      He 
played  the  organ  in  the  country  church,  gave  young  ladies 
singing  and  music  lessons  and  taught  them  painting  and  so 
had  the  run  of  the  house.      After  his  escape  from  the 
Poughkeepsie  authorities  he  went  to  Europe   but  we  never 
could  hear  of  him  in  one  place  long  enough  to  extradite 
him      Six  years  afterwards  he  suddenly  appeared  in  this 
country  as  one  of  the  robbers  of  the  Seaside  Bank  of  Hart- 
ford     That  time  we  got  upon  his  track  and  nearly  caught 
him,  but  he  gave  us  the  slip  and  got  away  to  South  America, 
where  there  were  no  extradition  treaties." 
'  '  And  his  name  ?  "  I  faltered. 

"He  has  several  names-Robert  Morrow,  Gregory  Wil, 
jams,  Charles  Siebert  and  now  Arthur  Vance," 


122  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  But  it  is  impossible, "  said  I.  "  The  Squire  went  to 
New  York  and  found  out  all  about  him. " 

"  A  trick  easily  enough  played/'  Price  answered.  "  Aunt 
Martha  gave  me  the  names  and  places  where  the  Squire 
went  and  I  have  sent  them  to  New  York.  But  it  is  hardly 
worth  while,  for  the  people  whom  the  Squire  saw  will  have 
left  long  before  this.  The  man  who  left  by  the  4:15  train 
for  Boston  was  Vance  disguised.  Or  at  all  events  he  carried 
a  pocket  full  of  just  such  cigars  as  Vance  smoked  when  at 
home.  Aunt  Martha  gave  me  one  of  his  cigars — little 
dreaming  what  I  wanted  it  for.  It  had  a  band  about  it-*-a 
genuine  Havana  band — the  cigars  that  bear  that  band  never 
cost  less  than  twenty  cents  a  piece.  I  picked  up  three  simi- 
lar bands  this  morning.  Two  I  found  near  where  the 
freight  engine  was  standing,  the  other  near  the  telegraph 
office.  One  of  those  bands  came  from  the  cigar  which  the 
stranger  smoked,  the  second  came  from  the  cigar  which  the 
engineer  smoked,  the  third  came  from  the  cigar  which 
the  station  master  smoked." 

"  But  how  about  his  coming  from  Pawtucket?"  I  asked. 

"  He  never  came  from  Pawtucket.  He  got  to  the  station 
as  the  freight  engine  came  in,  stayed  talking  to  the  engineer 
until  the  train  left,  then  went  to  the  station  master,  who 
accepted  the  story  as  it  was  told  him.  The  beard,  etc. ,  were 
ordinary  disguises.  There  were  evidently  two  men  who 
helped  him.  They  were  the  two  men  that  Ezra  Cummins 
got  on  the  track  of  and  then  lost.  I  have  the  name  of  the 
engine  driver  who  drove  the  engine  that  night,  and  will  have 
him  interviewed  by  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  but  it  is  hardly 
necessary,  for  the  man  who  took  the  4:15  train  never  came 
from  Pawtucket.  Now  I'm  going  to  bed.  I'm  sleepy." 

I  showed  him  his  room  and  then  came  to  mine,  where  I 
have  written  you  this  letter.     Good  night.    / 
Sincerely  your  partner, 
T. 


CLUE. 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

A  CLUE. 

THE  next  morning  after  breakfast  Price  asked  Benny  to 
come  up  to  his  room  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  something,"  said  Price  when  the 
door  was  shut  behind  them,  and  taking  out  his  pocket-book 
he  took  from  it  some  scraps  of  paper.  "  Do  you  remember 
those?  "he  said. 

"Yes.  I  saw  you  take  some  scraps  of  paper  out  of  a 
waste  basket,  and  I  suppose  those  are  they." 

"  You  are  right.  Now,  I  amused  myself  last  night  putting 
those  scraps  together  and  I'll  put  them  together  for  you. 
You  see  they  are  numbered  on  the  back.  I  did  that  for 
my  convenience  in  rearranging  them.  This  strip  of  paper 
has  evidently  been  torn  from  a  larger  sheet  for  the  purpose 
of  having  a  memorandum  made  upon  it.  Here  are  the 
figures  composing  the  memorandum,"  and  Price  arranged 
the  pieces  so  that  Benny  read  upon  the  whole  strip,  "  2 4, 

978      cs      -i  1  » 

* '    '         >  ^  *   '4-  0 » 

"  Well,"  said  Price,  "  what  do  you  make  out  of  it  f 

"Nothing,"  answered  Benny;  "the  figures  are  plain 
enough,  but  their  bearing  on  the  robbery  is  not." 

Price  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  I  am  disappointed 
in  you,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  would  know  that  those 
figures  are  the  memorandum  of  the  combination  of  the  safe." 

"Very  likely." 

"  That  memorandum,"  continued  Price,  hardly  noticing 
Benny's  interruption,  "in  my  opinion  was  left  somewhere 
jn  the  bank  by  previous  arrangement,  so  that  the  burglars 


124  THE   POMFEET  M-YSTEKY. 

could  get  into  the  bank  without  using  force.  You  noticed 
that  the  locks  worked  all  right  after  I  had  pushed  the  tum- 
brils into  place." 

Benny  nodded. 

"  Well,  those  tumbrils  were  intentionally  put  out  to  make 
it  appear  that  force  was  used.  Now  let  us  see  who  knew 
of  the  combination  that  night." 

"  The  Squire  and  the  Cashier,"  said  Benny. 

" Do  you  know  the  handwriting  of  either  of  them?" 

"  I  know  the  Squire's  handwriting  very  well,  he  never 
wrote  those  figures.  You  know  I  studied  law  in  his  office." 

"  Do  you  know  the  Cashier's?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  we  can  find  his  entries  on  the  books  of  the  bank 
and  compare  them  with  these  figures." 

"  But  perhaps  that  is  an  old  memorandum." 

"  If  it  is,  then  how  came  it  in  the  waste  basket  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  find  out  what  the  combination  was  last  Wed- 
nesday night." 

"  I  would  like  to,  but  I'm  afraid  to  ask  directly  or  I  may 
alarm  the  Squire  or  the  Cashier." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  try  to  find  out." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Benny." 

When  Benny  Moore  came  to  town  he  did  ask,  and  both 
the  Squire  and  the  Cashier  gave  him  the  same  figures; 
74,  28s,  8a,  6 '.  Price  looked  glum  when  Benny  told  him. 

"  It  doesn't  shake  my  belief  that  the  memorandum  was 
really  put  there  for  the  purpose  we  supposed,"  he  said; 
"  but  it  shows  that  every  precaution  has  been  taken  to  pre- 
vent discovery." 

"  Then  you  think  that  the  Squire  and  .the  Cashier  have 
given  the  wrong  combination." 

"  That's  what  I  do  think." 

" Is  there  any  way  to  prove  it?" 


A  CLUB.  125 

"  No  !  We  are  balked  there." 

"  What  will  you  do  now?" 

"  I'll  have  the  cashier  shadowed;  perhaps  time  will  bring 
us  more  information." 

The  Sheriff  met  the  two  men  on  the  corner  and  greeted 
them  very  warmly.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  list  here 
of  the  stolen  securities.  I'll  give  you  each  one  if  you  like; 
we've  had  a  whole  lot  printed." 

"  Have  you  sent  any  off?"  asked  Benny. 

"Yes,  to  all  the  newspapers  and  to  every  banker  and 
broker  in  the  country." 

"  And  how  is  Mrs.  Vance  this  morning?" 

"Well,  the  Doctor  says  she's  about  the  same,  and,  by- 
the-way,  her  husband  will  be  back  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
The  Squire  got  a  telegram  from  him  this  morning." 

"  Indeed  !  Where  was  he?" 

"  In  Chicago.  He  saw  the  robbery  of  the  bank  in  the 
newspapers  and  started  right  away." 

"  Don't  let  us  detain  you,  Sheriff." 

"  Well,  good  day." 

"  Good  day." 

"  Now,"  said  Price,  as  the  Sheriff  left  them,  "  let  us  go 
over  to  the  telegraph  office  and  get  the  answer  to  the 
message  I  sent  yesterday." 

There  were  several  telegrams  for  the  detective.  One  said 
that  the  engineer  denied  having  had  any  passenger  on  his 
engine  on  Thursday  morning.  Another  reported  that 
Vance's  references  in  New  York  still  lived  in  the  same  houses 
and  were  well  known  respectable  people,  beyond  reproach. 

When  they  got  outside  Price  said  to  Benny:  "  We  have 
a  deep  rogue  to  deal  with.  It  will  be  no  easy  task  to  solve 
the  mystery." 

"What  will  you  do  next?" 

"  I  shall  go  to  Boston  for  a  day  or  two  to  see  if  I  can  get 
a  clue  to  the  stranger." 


126  THE   POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

Price  left  that  afternoon  and  Benny,  after  visiting  Aunt 
Martha,  went  home. 

Aunt  Martha  was  really  very  much  worried  about  the 
Squire.  A  feeling  had  grown  up  in  the  town,  no  one  knew 
how  or  why,  that  the  Squire  was  in  some  way  responsible 
for  the  robbery.  Hard  looks  and  half  disguised  reproaches 
met  him  everywhere  as  he  walked  abroad,  and  his  daughter's 
very  serious  condition  weighed  upon  him.  His  life  had 
hitherto  been  so  full  and  bustling  as  to  afford  but  few 
breathing  spells;  he  had  been  pulled  a  dozen  ways  at  once, 
and  now,  as  Aunt  Martha  saw  the  robbery,  and  failure  of  the 
bank,  depriving  him  of  all  his  property  and  leaving  him  de- 
pendent on  herself  and  his  daughter,  would  force  him  to  a 
life  of  comparative  idleness.  He  had  always  stood  so  high, 
too,  in  the  respect  of  his  fellow  townsfolk  that  it  was  now 
very  hard  upon  him  to  be  treated  with  aversion  and  distrust. 
He  was  too  old,  moreover,  to  seek  to  rebuild  his  shattered 
fortunes. 

Vance  got  back  early  on  Monday  morning.  He  expressed 
great  horror  at  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  and  was  nearly 
prostrated  at  the  news  of  his  wife's  illness.  His  anxiety  to 
know  the  cause  and  probable  effect  of  it  was  too  genuine  to 
be  doubted  and  won  him  at  once  the  sympathy  of  the  popu- 
lace. 

About  noon  on  the  day  of  Vance's  arrival  Sheriff  Delaney, 
much  puzzled  and  perplexed  at  his  inability  to  solve  the 
mystery  which  shrouded  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  was  pass- 
ing down  the  street  in  his  way  from  his  house  to  the  tavern. 
His  errand  led  him  past  the  post  office  and  he  nodded  to 
the  jolly/  red-faced  postmaster  as  he  passed.  The  post- 
master saw  him  and  beckoned  to  him  to  stop,  and  so  the 
Sheriff  went  in. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  you,  Sheriff,"  said  he,  putting  on  his 
spectacles  and  hunting  through  the  pile  of  letters  and  news- 


A  CLUE.  12 

papers  on  his  table.  "  The  mail  has  just  come  and  I  hain't 
had  time  to  sort  'em  out  yet,  but  I  seed  your  name  as  I 
poured  'em  out  o'  the  bag.  It  must  be  here  somewhere. 
Ah,  this  is  it." 

The  Sheriff  took  the  letter  and  looked  it  over  carefully. 
"Boston,"  he  said,  examining  the  postmark. 

The  envelope  was  soiled  and  crumpled,  and  the  address 
was  composed  of  letters  cut  from  a  newspaper  and  pasted  on 
the  envelope,  not  neatly,  for  the  gum  had  been  smeared 
around  them. 

"  It's  a  queer  kind  o'  letter,  ain't  it  ?  "  said  the  postmaster, 
eyeing  him  over  his  spectacles. 

The  Sheriff  tore  the  envelope  open  and  took  out  a  half 
sheet  of  soiled  notepaper.  It  bore  no  date  nor  address,  but 
printed  across  its  face  in  sprawling  straggling  letters  were 
these  words:  "  Luk  between  the  fift  an  sixt  tres  sefent  ro 
in  Beny  Mores  orcherd  ask  him  how  they  kam  ther  Luk 
fust  ask  him  arterwuds.  A  frend." 

The  Sheriff  turned  the  paper  over  and  looked  at  the  back 
of  it  as  if  that  would  give  him  an  idea  of  the  meaning  of 
this  strange  epistle.  Then  he  took  up  the  envelope  and 
looked  at  that  again. 

"  Suthin'  important?"  queried  the  post-master. 

"  Yes,  something  very  important,"  answered  the  Sheriff, 
as  he  folded  the  letter,  put  it  in  the  envelope,  and  the  en- 
velope in  his  pocket,  and  hurried  out. 

"  Never  seed  the  Capting  in  sich  a  hurry  afore,"  solilo- 
quized the  postmaster  as  he  went  to  the  door  and  watched 
the  receding  figure  of  the  Sheriff.  "Well,  I  must  be  a 
sortin'  my  mail.  Guess  it  was  suthin'  about  the  robbery." 

Full  of  the  importance  of  the  new  information  the 
Sheriff  hurried  down  to  Lawyer  Morrison's  office. 

"Is  Mr.  Morrison  in?"  he  asked  of  the  clerk  in  the 
outer  room. 


128  THE  POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  He's  busy  just  now,  Captain,  but  he'll  be  at  leisure  in 
a  minute." 

"Who's  with  him?" 

"Mr.  Vance. " 
*"  About  the  bank  ?" 

"  Yes  !  I  guess  so  !  Queer  thing  that  there  ain't  no  clue 
to  the  robbers,  ain't  it?" 

"  Well,  if  I  was  you  I  wouldn't  be  in  no  such  hurry  to  say 
there  wasn't  a  clue.  Now  you  just  go  in  and  tell  Mr. 
Morrison  and  Mr.  Vance  that  I  want  to  see  them  impor- 
tant." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Sheriff  was  shown  into  Mr.  Morri- 
son's private  office. 

Never  before  had  Captain  Delaney  stood  more  erect, 
never  had  he  given  a  more  angular  military  salute  than  he 
did  now,  never  had  his  face  been  so  stern  and  magisterial. 
He  felt  the  importance  of  his  communication  tingling  in 
every  fiber  of  his  body.  Both  Vance  and  Mr.  Morrison 
could  not  help  smiling  at  his  manner. 

"  Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Delaney,"  said  the  lawyer;  "  you 
wanted  to  see  us;  have  you  heard  anything  new  ?  " 

For  answer  the  Sheriff  unbuttoned  his  coat  and  taking 
the  letter  from  his  pocket  handed  it  to  him. 

The  lawyer  put  on  his  glasses,  looked  at  the  address, 
opened  it  and  took  out  and  read  the  letter.  A  look  of 
amazement  passed  over  his  features  and  the  Sheriff  noted 
it  with  satisfaction.  He  made  no  remark,  however,  but 
handed  it  to  Vance,  who  read  it  over  slowly  aloud. 

Then  Vance  laid  the  letter  on  the  table  and  looked  at  his 
companions.  Neither  of  them  spoke. 

"Well,"  he  said,  at  last  breaking  the  silence,  "what  do 
you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  we'd  better  look,"  said  the  Sheriff. 

"  It  would  be  hardly  worth  while,"  said  the  lawyer;  "  I 


A  CLTJE.  129 

have  known  Benny  since  his  childhood;  such  a  thing  is  im- 
possible. " 

"  It  can  do  no  harm  to  look,  though  I  do  not  helieve  that 
anything  will  come  of  it/'  said  Vance. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  lawyer;  "  you  will  go  with 
the  Sheriff,  Mr.  Vance?" 

"  I  had  rather  not.  From  little  things  that  I  have  heard 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  Moore  has  been  trying  to 
throw  suspicion  on  my  wife  and  me,  and  under  these  cir- 
cumstances I  do  not  wish  to  go  to  his  father's  place  on  this 
errand.  I  think  you  had  better  go." 

"  It  is  a  useless  errand,  but  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go." 

"After  all  the  letter  is  anonymous  and  every  one  has 
enemies.  Even  if  you  find  anything  it  will  prove  nothing 
against  him  if  he  is  able  to  account  for  his  whereabouts  at 
the  time  of  the  robbery." 

"  Do  we  want  a  warrant? "  said  the  Sheriff. 

"  No,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  If  Benny  knows  that  we  sus- 
pect him  he  will  come  with  us  without  a  warrant  and  the 
formalities  of  law  can  be  gone  through  with  afterward. 
Besides  I  should  not  wish  to  apply  for  a  warrant  on  the 
sole  evidence  of  an  anonymous  letter." 

In  a  short  time  the  Sheriff  and  the  lawyer  drove  into  the 
stable  yard  at  Woodside.  They  found  Andy  at  work  wash- 
ing a  buggy. 

"  Mr.  Moore,  or  Benny,  at  home  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  No,  sir.     They've  gone  over  to  Stockton." 

"  We  want  to  go  into  the  orchard  a  little  while,  Andy," 
said  the  lawyer;  "  will  you  hitch  the  horse?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  we'll  go  alone." 

"  Now,  I  wonder  what  those  two  want  in  the  orchard," 
soliloquized  Andy  as  he  fastened  the  hitching  strap  to  a  post; 
"  guess  it's  no  harm  a  lookin'  at  them  anyhow."  So  saying 


130  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

he  applied  his  eye  to  a  knot  hole  that  commanded  a  view  of 
the  orchard. 

"  There  they  are/'  he  continued  to  himself  as  the  two 
men  appeared  around  the  corner  of  the  barn.  "  Golly  ! 
If  the  Sheriff  hain't  taken  down  the  shovel  from  the  cart 
shed.  Now  they  go  down  among  the  trees  counting  them, 
as  sure  as  I'm  alive.  An'  now  they  stop  an'  go  to  talking. 
The  Sheriff  sees  suthin'  on  the  ground;  he's  a  pointin'  to 
it.  Gosh  all  hemlock  !  if  he  ain't  a  diggin'.  Well,  I'll  be 
durned,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he  looked  around  to  see  if  any- 
one saw  him  at  his  peephole,  "  if  I  ain't  a  forgot  to  put  the 
blanket  on  the  Sheriff's  horse.  I'll  do  so  now,"  and  he 
went  and  blanketed  the  horse  and  returned  to  his  watch. 
"Sheriff's  still  a  diggin'.  An'  now  he's  stopped.  Guess 
he  ain't  done  so  much  diggin'  since  he  was  a  boy.  Hullo  ! 
he's  a  bringin'  suthin'  up  out  of  the  hole.  Look's  like  a 
box.  Yes,  it  is  a  box .  There  a  sittin'  down  now  to  look 
at  it.  Wonder  what's  in  it.  Well,  they've  got  through  at 
last  an'  are  comin'  back.  Sheriff  might  ha'  filled  in  the 
hole  though,  I  spose  I  must  do  that,"  and  Andy  stepped 
nimbly  away  from  his  peephole  and  resumed  his  work. 

"  We'll  wait  a  little  while,"  said  Mr.  Morrison,  as  he  came 
into  the  stable  yard.  "Andy,  how  soon  will  Mr.  Moore  and 
Benny  be  back  ?  " 

"Ought  to  be  back  very  soon  now,  sir;  they've  been 
gone  most  three  hours." 

When  Benny  returned  the  lawyer  took  him  aside  and  said 
to  him: 

"  Benny,  would  you  mind  telling  me  where  you  were  on 
the  last  Wednesday  night." 

"  The  night  of  the  robbery?" 

"Yes." 

"Here.  Why?" 

"  Can  you  find  any  one  who  knows  you  were  here  at  the 
time  of  the  robbery  ?  " 


THE  TEtAL.  f  131 

"  Good  God  !  Mr.  Morrison,  you  don't  suspect  me  ?  " 

'  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Benny,  that  we  have  received  in- 
formation accusing  you  of  the  crime  and  that  part  of  the 
securities  stolen  from  the  bank  were  found  in  your  father's 
orchard.  It  is  very  slight  evidence  against  you,  but  I  shall 
feel  obliged  to  ask  you  to  come  back  with  us  unless  some  one 
can  speak  positively  as  to  your  being  in  the  house  between 
twelve  and  five  on  Thursday  morning." 

"  No  one  can  do  that,  of  course.  Every  one  was  asleep. 
Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you  right  away  ?  "  . 

"  I  think  you  had  better,  and  your  father  had  best  come 
also;  we  may  want  him  for  your  bail." 

"Hullo!  Andy!"  cried  Benny,  "put  Duke  back  into 
the  buggy.  We're  going  to  Pomfret." 

The  party  appeared  before  Judge  Maxwell  in  Pomfret. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Moore,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  and 
have  no  doubt  but  that  your  innocence  will  be  clearly  es- 
tablished, but  under  the  circumstances  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
hold  you.  But  I  will  take  bail  in  ten  thousand  dollars  and 
accept  your  father  as  surety.  The  bail  is  small,  but  then 
the  evidence  is  very  slight.  Mr.  Moore,  you  have  my  best 
wishes  for  your  early  and  complete  vindication." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  TKIAL. 


IT  was  late  in  the  Autumn  when  the  great  trial  came  off 
at  last — the  trial  remembered  so  many  years  as  the  greatest 
event  in  the  annals  of  Pomfret  township — the  trial  of 
Benjamin  Moore  for  robbing  the  Pomfret  Bank. 

The  court  room  was  crowded.  Men  and  women  had 
waited  from  early  in  the  morning  to  get  seats  in  the  hall, 


132  THE   POMFRET  MTSTEET. 

and  long  before  the  court  was  opened  every  available  stand- 
ing place  was  occupied  and  there  were  groups  outside  under 
the  opened  windows.  Women  talked  gossip  and  fanned 
themselves,  the  men  stood,  closely  packed  together  in  a 
noisy  perspiring  crowd. 

To  those  who  waited  it  seemed  a  long  while  before  the 
vacant  space  set  aside  for  the  members  of  the  bar,  the  wit- 
nesses and  the  counsel,  showed  signs  of  life.  Then  one  or 
two  of  the  country  lawyers  strolled  in  and  took  their  seats. 
Then  some  of  the  witnesses  came  in  and  were  handed  chairs 
by  the  constables  in  attendance,  and  finally  in  came  the 
Squire  with  Aunt  Martha  leaning  on  his  arm. 

Each  successive  arrival  was  greeted  by  a  loud  buzz  of 
conversation,  in  which  his  or  her  name  could  be  heard.  As 
the  side  door  by  which  these  persons  entered  was  seen  to 
swing  open  an  expectant  hush  fell  upon  the  spectators,  if 
it  was  but  one  of  the  court  attendants  coming  in  there  was 
a  murmur  of  disappointment;  if  some  one  connected  with 
the  case,  speculation  was  rife  as  to  what  part  he  had  to  fill. 

Finally  the  counsel  for  the  defense  came  in,  chatting 
pleasantly  with  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and  shortly  after- 
wards the  judges  entered,  and  bowing  to  the  assembled 
lawyers,  took  seats  on  the  bench. 

Then  the  court  crier  made  his  proclamation,  and,  at  the 
"  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  Oyez  ! "  of  his  call  a  deep  silence  fell  upon 
the  multitude. 

Then  came  the  prisoner,  who,  bowing  to  the  magistrates, 
took  his  seat  and  the  jury  was  chosen. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  opened  the  case,  and  his  speech 
detailed  the  robbery  of  the  bank  and  the  events  connected 
therewith,  and  a  brief  outline  of  what  he  intended  to  prove. 

Then  the  first  witness,  Squire  Leslie,  was  called  to  the 
witness  box  and  sworn. 

His  testimony  was  very  brief.     He  described  the  discovery 


THE   TRIAL.  133 

of  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  and  identified  certain  papers  as 
having  been  the  bank's  property.  He  also  told  how  he  had 
met  the  prisoner  before  and  after  the  robbery.  That  was 
all. 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  asked  him  but  few  questions. 

"  Who  locked  the  safe  on  the  night  before  the  robbery?" 

"  Ephraim  Chester,  the  cashier,  in  my  presence." 

"  Did  you  see  the  combination  with  which  the  safe  was 
locked?"" 

"No." 

"  "Who  knew  of  that  combination." 

"  The  cashier  and  myself  I  suppose." 

"  Would  you  swear  that  only  you  two  knew  it?" 

"  No.  I  swear  that  I  knew  it  and  that  I  told  no  one 
what  it  was.  That  is  all  that  I  can  swear  to." 

"  What  was  the  reputation  of  the  prisoner  up  to  the  time 
of  the  robbery  ?  " 

"  The  very  best  in  the  world." 

Then  the  prosecutor  rose  with  one  question  only  in  re- 
direct. 

"  What  was  the  combination  referred  to?" 

CC  ry  4     QQ  a      Q  »      £  i   }) 

i  ,  M  ,  8  ,  b  . 

Then  the  next  witness  was  called  and  the  Cashier  took 
his  stand.  He  was  very  nervous, — but  that  is  an  ordinary 
sensation  in  witnesses.  He  testified  that  he  had  locked 
the  safe;  told  what  the  combination  had  been;  and  swore 
positively  to  the  fact  that  he  had  given  it  to  no  one,  except 
the  Squire. 

He  was  not  cross-examined. 

Then  the  Sheriff  was  put  upon  the  stand  and  detailed  his 
investigations. 

When,  in  his  testimony,  he  told  about  the  anonymous 
letter  and  described  the  finding  of  the  box  there  was  a  deep 
silence  through  the  court  room.  When  he  produced  the 


134'  THE    POMFKET    MYSTERY. 

letter  there  was  a  movement  of  the  crowd  as  they  craned 
their  necks  to  get  a  sight  of  it. 

The  prisoner's  lawyer  asked  but  one  question. 

"  What  was  the  character  of  the  prisoner  before  the  rob- 
bery?" 

"The  best  possible." 

Then,  at  the  summons  of  the  crier,  Doctor  Gamble  took 
the  stand.  He  described  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Vance  and 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  she  was  suffering  from  some 
severe  mental  shock  received  on  the  night  of  the  robbery. 
Her  mind  had  not  yet  recovered  its  normal  condition. 

Then  the  prosecuting  attorneys  put  a  question  which 
showed  to  the  crowd  their  theory  of  their  case. 

"  Would  the  mental  condition  described  by  you  be  likely 
to  result  if  Mrs.  Vance  had  seen  through  the  transom  of 
the  door  an  old  schoolmate,  an  old  lover,  engaged  in  robbing 
the  bank." 

The  judges  looked  at  the  prisoner's  attorneys,  who  rose 
and  said,  that  though  they  might  have  grounds  to  object 
to  the  form  of  the  question,  yet  as  they  had  been  specially 
instructed  by  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  to  allow  all  the  testi- 
mony which  the  other  side  could  produce  to  enter  the 
record,  therefore,  confident  in  the  innocence  of  their  client, 
they  made  no  objection. 

The  answer  came  solemnly  and  slowly:  "  It  would." 

Again  was  the  question  asked;  "  What  was  the  character 
of  the  prisoner  before  the  robbery  ?  " 

Again  came  the  answer,  "  The  best  possible." 

Then  Aunt  Martha  was  called  to  the  stand. 

She  told  what  she  knew,  and  detailed  the  finding  of  the 
wax  spots  on  the  carpet  and  in  the  bank.  Her  testimony 
was  new  to  the  spectators  and  they  listened  in  silent  atten- 
tion. Her  cross-examination  was  longer. 

"  What  was  the  color  of  the  wax  spots?"  she  was  asked. 


THE  TEIAL. 


135 


"Pink." 

"  Was  the  color  of  the  spots  in  the  bank  and  on  the  carpet 

the  same?" 

"  They  were.     Apparently  they  were  of  the  same  wax." 

"  Were  there  candles  in  the  Squire's  house  of  a  similar 
color;  and  if  so  where  were  they  kept?" 

"  In  Mrs.  Vance's  room  and  there  only." 

"  What  was  the  reputation  of  the  prisoner  before  the  rob- 
bery?" 

"  The  best  possible." 

Then  the  prosecution  closed  their  case  and  the  defense 
opened. 

The  prisoner  was  sworn  on  his  own  behalf  and  gave  his 
testimony.  He  was  cross-examined  at  some  length,  but 
nothing  tending  to  fix  the  crime  upon  him  was  elicited. 

Then  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moore  were  in  turn  examined  and 
testified  that  Benny  had  gone  to  bed  and  had  been  up  the 
next  morning.  Only  one  question  on  cross-examination  was 
important. 

"  Had  the  dogs  barked  that  night?" 

"  Not  that  they  remembered." 

"  Would  they  be  likely  to  bark  if  strangers  had  been  in 
the  orchard  ?  " 

"  They  would." 

Then  Price  took  the  stand  and  told  how  Benny  had  sent 
for  him,  and  how  he  had  come  and  what  he  had  found. 

Alas  !  for  Benny,  all  the  detective's  searches  away  from 
Pomf ret  had  been  barren  of  results. 

Then  Andy  was  examined  as  to  the  condition  of  the  horses 
and  wagons  the  next  morning  and  the  defense  closed. 

Then  in  rebuttal  and  at  his  own  request  Arthur  Vance 
was  called.  Unjust  suspicion  had  been  put  upon  him  by 
the  detective's  testimony  and  he  desired  to  clear  himself. 
He  had  been  in  Chicago,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  robbery 


136  THE  POMFKET  MYSTEKY. 

until  he  had  seen  an  account  of  it  in  the  papers.  He 
showed  the  telegram  received  by  the  Squire,  and  asserted 
that  dozens  of  people  would  testify  to  having  seen  and 
talked  with  him  in  Chicago. 

The  Oliver  Loring  rose  and  addressed  the  jury  on  behalf 
of  the  accused.  He  showed  how  slight  the  evidence  was  on 
which  the  prosecution  rested  their  case.  Showed  how 
impossible  it  was  that  any  wax  from  the  candles  in  Mrs. 
Vance's  room  could  have  been  dropped  by  Benny  Moore  in 
the  bank,  and  asked  who,  among  all  that  vast  audience, 
could  prove  by  the  testimony  of  a  third  person  that  he  had 
rested  quietly  in  his  bed  all  the  night  through. 

It  was  a  fervid,  impassioned,  but  thoroughly  logical  ad- 
dress, and  when  after  speaking  for  an  hour,  he  closed,  there 
was  not  a  soul  in  the  hall  that  thought  Benny  Moore  guilty 
of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused. 

But  then  the  prosecuting  attorney  arose,  and  clearly  and 
concisely  began  his  address.  He  pointed  out  to  the  jury 
that  the  prisoner  after  an  absence  of  more  than  two  years 
had  suddenly  returned  to  Pomfret.  He  dwelt  long  and 
seriously  on  the  fact  that  the  dogs  had  not  been  heard  bark- 
ing on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  and  went  over  every  detail 
of  the  evidence  about  the  finding  of  the  box  in  the  orchard. 
He  passed  on  to  the  illness  of  Ethel  Vance  and  grew  im- 
passioned as  he  described  the  feelings  of  a  woman  who 
should  see  an  old  and  valued  friend  engaged  in  nefarious 
burglary.  And  when  he  closed  the  audience  were  divided 
in  their  opinions. 

The  judge  made  his  charge  to  the  jury,  leaning  first  to 
one  side  and  then  to  the  other,  and  then  the  jury  retired. 

They  were  out  for  two  hours  and  when  they  came 
into  court  the  vast  audience  listened  intently  for  their  ver- 
dict as  it  came  like  a  knell  through  the  silence. 

"GUILTY." 


ETHEL'S   ILLNESS.  137 

Guilty,  and  Benny  Moore  was  convicted  of  the  crime. 

The  prisoner's  lawyers  moved  promptly  for  a  stay,  which 
was  granted,  and  then  the  judges  left  the  bench  and  the 
vast  audience  streamed  out  of  the  court  room  to  spread  the 
news  far  and  wide  that  Benny  Moore  had  been  found  guilty 
of  robbing  the  Pomfret  Bank. 

And  all  the  while  she,  whose  few  words  would  have  lifted 
from  him  the  black  cloud  of  dishonor  that  shadowed  him, 
lay  helpless  upon  the  bed  of  sickness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ETHEL'S  ILLNESS. 

YES,  Ethel  lay  helpless  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  and  her 
wandering  mind  knew  nothing  of  the  tragic  events  that 
were  transpiring,  knew  not  that  a  man  had  been  dashed 
clown  from  the  high  pedestal  of  honor  which  he  had  so 
proudly  occupied;  knew  not  that  the  home  at  Woodside 
where  she  had  so  often  gone,  had  been  plunged  into  deepest 
grief. 

For  many  days  and  many  weary  nights  Ethel  Vance  lay 
helplessly  upon  her  bed,  in  dull  unconsciousness,  or  worse 
yet,  and  far  more  frequently,  in  that  dim  and  half  perceptive 
state  which  leaves  only  unrest  and  weariness.  It  seemed 
often  as  if  it  were  a  mere  matter  of  chance,  whether  her 
slumber  was  ever  to  be  broken  by  the  flush  of  Life,  or  was 
simply  to  sink,  and  deepen  and  expand  into  the  long  sleep 
of  Death. 

"  Sleep,"  said  the  Doctor,  quoting  from  one  of  his  favorite 
authors — "  Sleep  is  not  always  sent  on  missions  of  refresh- 
ment; sleep  is  sometimes  the  secret  chamber  in  which  Death 
arranges  his  machinery;  sleep  is  sometimes  that  deep,  mys- 


138  THE   POMFEET   MYSTERY. 

terious  atmosphere  in  which  the  human  spirit  is  slowly  un- 
settling its  wings  for  flight  from  its  earthly  tenement." 

But  the  light  of  the  star  of  life  was  not  yet  quenched, 
though  it  burned  with  a  faint,  wan,  sickly  glow,  and  some- 
times flickered  and  trembled  as  if  about  to  fade  away;  and 
anon,  blazed  up  clearly  and  brightly. 

As  some  mighty  convulsion  of  nature  tears  the  bosom  of 
the  earth  and  disturbs  the  fountains  which  have  sent  their 
blessings  over  the  parched  land,  hides  the  golden  sun  with 
clouds  of  smoke,  covers  the  fertile  earth  with  a  mantle  of 
ashes,  and  rends  the  rocks  into  fragments  and  sends  their 
precious  ores  in  molten  streams  through  crack  and  crevice; 
so  the  great  shock  wjhich  Ethel  Vance  had  undergone  had 
strained  the  golden  cords  which  bind  the  spirit  to  its  tene- 
ment of  clay,  had  scorched  the  very  fountains  of  her  life, 
seared  her  soul  as  if  with  fire,  melted  affection  from  out 
her  heart,  and  left  the  place  where  it  had  been  dark  and 
empty,  carpeted  with  the  ashes  of  dead  love  and  dark  with 
the  mephitic  vapors  of  hate. 

From  day  to  day  the  fever  of  her  blood  racked  her  brain 
and  body;  sometimes  nature,  rallying,  would,  by  an  effort, 
gathering  all  her  forces,  shake  it  off;  and  then,  again,  it 
would  sweep  upon  her  and  overwhelm  her,  as  the  sea  sweeps 
over  and  submerges  the  low-lands  when  the  dykes  are  down. 

Sometimes  the  hot  madness  of  her  blood  would  summon 
strange  images  before  her  brain,  and  she  would  toss  about 
in  the  wildness  of  delirium,  moaning,  and  muttering  broken, 
disjointed  and  unintelligible  sentences,  ejaculating  earnest 
and  yet  incomprehensible  warnings,  as  if  there  was  some- 
thing which  the  spirit  was  ever  striving  for  yet  ever  failing 
to  grasp. 

At  other  times  she  lay  quiet  on  her  bed,  wrapped  in  a 
lethargy,  with  every  sense  faint  and  dull,  half-conscious  of 
the  room  wherein  she  lay,  half  hearing  the  faint  echoes  that ; 


ETHEL'S    ILLNESS.  139 

came  through  the  open  windows  from  the  bustling  street, 
half  perceiving  the  soft  airs  and  odors  of  the  Spring.  At 
such  times  she  had  a  vague  consciousness  of  the  presence 
of  the  Doctor,  of  Aunt  Martha  or  the  nurse,  as  they  moved 
with  noiseless  steps  about  the  sick  room,  seeing  them  vaguely 
as  if  in  the  twilight,  recognizing  them  indistinctly  like  the 
uncertain  recollection  of  dream-figures. 

Once  only  had  her  husband  been  allowed  to  see  her,  and 
that  time  she  had  shrunk  away  from  him  affrighted,  and 
when  he  had  bent  over  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her  brow  she 
had  broken  out  with  the  madness  of  delirium — into  wild 
upbraidings  and  revilings — trembling  with  passion  and 
hurling  vindictive,  incoherent  reproaches  at  him;  so  that 
the  Doctor  forbade  him  to  repeat  his  visit  and  his  name  was 
never  mentioned  in  her  hearing. 

Nor  was  her  father  admitted  to  her  presence  more  than 
once,  for  he  excited  her  also,  but  in  a  different  way.  She 
reproached  herself  to  him  for  bringing  poverty  and  disgrace 
upon  him,  sobbed  and  raved  and  wept  in  a  delirium  of  re- 
proach. 

Thus  in  that  room  was  fought  a  long,  hard  struggle  with 
Death,  unt.il  at  last,  slowly  and  sullenly,  he  retired  de- 
feated. But  for  many  weeks  afterwards  Ethel  lay  weak 
and  helpless  as  a  child.  Nought  was  said  to  her  about  the 
events  of  the  past  few  months;  no  questions  were  asked  her 
as  to  what  she  had  seen;  she  was  too  weak. 

None  who  knew  the  bright,  cheerful  Ethel  of  other  days 
would  have  recognized  her  now  in  the  pale  emaciated  form 
upon  the  bed.  Her  eyes  had  sunken  deep  into  their  sockets, 
the  lines  about  her  mouth  had  grown  deep  and  stern,  and 
the  lips  had  lost  their  curve  and  grown  straight  and  hard  as 
if  continually  compressed  with  pain,  and  her  hair,  cut  close 
during  her  illness,  was  growing  out  again  white  as  the  snow. 
And  as  she  grew  stronger,  there  showed  gradually  more 


140  THE   POMFBET  MYSTERY. 

and  more,  a  similar  change  in  her  nature.  She  seemed  not 
to  care  for  life,  to  be  passive  in  the  hands  of  Aunt  Martha 
and  Doctor  Gamble. 

So  the  days  went  by  until  she  was  able  to  bear  the  outer 
air  and  to  sit  in  the  warm  sun-light  of  the  porch. 

She  had  not  seen  her  husband  again.  As  she  recovered 
strength  she  had  been  asked  if  she  would  see  him,  but  she 
had  always  refused.  She  seemed  to  feel  a  strong  antipathy 
to  him,  but  she  gave  no  reasons,  only  a  firm  emphatic  re- 
fusal that  there  was  no  disputing.  Indeed,  the  only  thing 
which  seemed  to  have  any  influence  over  her  so  far  as  in- 
ducing her  to  exert  herself  to  get  better  was  the  hope  of 
getting  away,  and  every  day  she  asked  the  Doctor  whether 
she  was  not  able  to  be  moved. 

But  as  she  grew  stronger,  and  could  talk  more  freely,  and 
as  she  questioned  Aunt  Martha  and  the  Doctor  about  what 
had  happened,  and  they  told  her  that  her  idea  of  the  rob- 
bery of  the  bank  was  but  the  vision  of  a  troubled  mind,  and 
let  her  see  that  people  still  came  and  went  into  the  brick 
building  next  door  (for  the  new  bank  had  made  that  its 
headquarters,  though  the  old  doorway  into  the  Squire's 
house  had  been  bricked  up),  she  grew  more  kind  to  her 
husband  and  strove  to  destroy  the  prejudice  that  she  had 
against  him,  as  if  it  were  a  morbid  fancy  of  her  illness. 
And  he,  by  all  means  in  his  power,  aided  her.  Had  he  been 
a  lover  seeking  to  win  her  maiden  love  he  could  not  have 
been  more  thoughtful  nor  more  delicate  in  his  attentions. 
So  in  time  her  dislike  slumbered,  and  a  faint  shadow  of  the 
old  love  ventured  to  show  itself. 

Still  there  was  danger  of  a  relapse  if  by  any  means  she 
should  hear  that  her  dream  was  true,  and  so  both  the 
Doctor  and  Vance  were  anxious  that  she  should  leave  Pom- 
fret.  She  was  still  weak  when  the  move  was  determined 
upon,  but  her  husband,  with  care  that  met  with  the  appro- 


ETHEI/S    ILLKESS.  141 

bation  of  all,  took  upon  himself  the  charge  of  the  arrange- 
ment. All  that  money  and  forethought  could  procure  he 
procured. 

A  special  car  arrived  at  the  station  fitted  with  every 
luxury  that  an  invalid  would  need,  and  four  strong  men 
brought  her  in  a  litter  from  the  house  to  the  railroad  station. 
Then  without  change  the  private  palace  car  rolled  away  to 
Eastern  Florida.  There  she  would  find  a  little  cottage  full 
of  servants  ready  to  do  her  bidding,  furnished  and  stocked 
with  all  that  were  necessary  to  her  comfort.  From  the 
window  she  could  look*  out  upon  the  ocean  and  watch  its 
restless  waves  and  ever-changing  surface. 

As  she  grew  stronger  there  was  a  comfortable  carriage, 
quiet  horses  and  smooth  roads  among  the  forests.  And  two 
miles  off  was  a  town-  where  she  see  could  human  life  and, 
if  she  wished,  seek  human  companionship.  She  did  not  so 
wish,  her  heart  was  still  sore,  her  mind"  too  weak  to  ask  for 
aught  else  than  rest  and  forgetfulness;  the  society  of  the 
woods  and  waters  was  all  that  she  cared  for.  There  was 
nothing  to  remind  her  of  Pomfret  except  her  husband. 
There  were  new  servants  in  the  house — black  people  who 
had  never  heard  of  that  New  England  town — and  even 
nature  wore  a  different  garb  than  in  her  northern  house. 

In  these  new  scenes  Ethel  grew  stronger.  She  was  sub- 
ject to  recurring  spells  of  dark  horror  and  fear,  but  she 
struggled  against  them  as  baseless  visions  of  her  illness. 

But  the  end  came  at  last.  Her  husband,  anxious  to 
amuse  her,  had  persuaded  her  to  drive  with  him  to  see  a 
boat  race  on  the  neighboring  river.  She  had  consented  to 
go.  She  would  cast  off  her  dullness  and  fight  against  the 
disordered  remnants  of  her  delirium.  She  would  go  out 
with  him  and  seek  recreation  in  the  society  of  her  fellow 
creatures.  She  remembered  that  in  one  of  her  trunks  there 
were  some  new  costumes  which  she  had  never  worn.  She 
would  don  one  of  those  for  the  occasion. 


142  (TflE    tOM^KET 

She  called  her  maid,  and  the  trunk  was  brought  into  her 
sitting  room,  and  opened.  There  lay  the  dresses,  which  now 
saw  the  light  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  been  packed 
up  in  Pomfret.  She  told  her  maid  to  take  them  out  and 
spread  them  where  she  could  see  them.  How  neatly  were 
they  wrapped  and  folded  in  their  brown  paper  coverings. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at  them,  for  what  woman  does  not 
take  pride  in  her  new  apparel  ?  One  little  parcel  there  was 
wrapped  in  newspaper,  and  as  the  maid  untied  it  and  threw 
the  paper  on  the  floor  Ethel  idly  picked  it  up  and  glanced 
at  it. 

What  was  this  that  met  her  eyes.  "  The  Trial."  What 
trial?  She  remembered  to  have  heard  of  no  trial.  She 
read  on:  "  Speech  of  Oliver  Loring."  Loring?  Oliver  Lor- 
ing  ?  That  was  the  name  of  Benny's  law  partner.  What 
was  he  doing  in  Pomfret.  "  Guilty."  Who  was  guilty? 
She  would  read  and  see. 

After  the  first  few  lines,  she  stopped  and  sent  her  maid 
away.  She  wished  no  witnesses  to  the  great  agony  that  she 
felt  was  closing  in  around  her  once  again.  What  she  had 
seen  had  been  no  dream,  then.  The  paper  before  her  was 
real.  She  crushed  it  in  her  hand  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
tangible.  She  read  over  again  and  again  the  long  account  of 
the  trial.  She  read  the  testimony  of  her  father  and  Aunt 
Martha,  of  Benny  Moore  and  the  detective.  She  read  the 
testimony  of  her  husband,  the  addresses  of  the  lawyers,  the 
verdict  of  the  jury.  The  remembrance  of  what  she  had 
seen  again  rose  clearly  and  distinctly  before  her.  It  was  no 
dream  but  a  sad  and  terrible  reality.  And  he,  her  husband, 
had  lied  to  her;  had  on  the  witness  stand  perjured  himself 
and  by  his  words  and  deeds  condemned  an  innocent  man  to 
ignominy  and  disgrace. 

She  could  have  forgiven  any  wrong,  any  injury,  any  in- 
fidelity to  herself;  but  thus  to  fasten  upon  an  innocent 


ETHEL'S  ILLNESS. 
man  a  crime  of  which  he  was  not  guilty  was  base,  too  base  for 


t  by  the  window  looking  out,  thinking  of  what  she 
should  do.  Within  her  vision  the  great  waves  were  rolling 
up  upon  the  beach,  a  sea  bird  was  dipping  his  wings  in  the 
blue  waves,  the  broad  blaze  of  the  setting  sun  was  gilc 

the  earth.  . 

She  saw  none  of  these  things.  She  saw  only  a  dim  room 
in  a  jail  and  a  man  whose  form  and  figure  she  well  knew 
hiding  his  face  in  his  hands. 

She  rose  silently.     Her  face  was  very  white  and  her  lips 
were  tightly  closed  as  if  with  deadly  pain.     With  her  own 
hands  she  took  from  the  closet  a  small  valise  and  packed  it 
with  such  things  as  she  would  need  upon  a  journey. 
took  her  purse  and  deliberately  counted  over  its  contents 
she  had  plenty  of  money.   With  hands  that  neither  trembled 
nor  faltered  she  tied  on  her  bonnet  and  put  on  her  cloak. 
She  heard  her  husband  on  the  front  gallery  talking  to  the 
coachman.     She  heard  the  horses  champing  their  bits  and 
pawing  the  ground,  and  remembered  that  they  were  waiting 
for  her.     Silently,  quietly  and  unseen  she  passed  out  from 
the  rear  of  the  house  and  went  to  the  stable.     No  one  was 
there.     She  wheeled  out  a  light  wagon  and  with  her  own 
hands  harnessed  a  horse  to  it.     Then  by  back  roads^  and 
unfrequented  ways  she  drove  to  the  station.     She  tied 
horse  and  left  him  there.     She  bought  her  ticket,  paid  for 
her  compartment,  and  took  her  place,  and  soon  behind  the 
puffing,  snorting  engine  the  train  of  cars  rolled  towards 
the  north.     Night  came,  but  she  could  not  sleep. 
clouds  of  smoke,  blacker  than  the  darkaess,  seemed,  as  they 
flew  past  the  car  windows,  to  be  demons;    the  sparks  that 
came  whirling  by  were  devils'  eyes  mocking  and  glaring  at 
her.     She  had  but  one  wish—  to  reach  Pomfret  and  save  i 
fame  of  an  honest  man. 


144  THE    POMFRET   MTSTEEY. 

Three  days  afterwards  a  dusty, travel-soiled  woman  alighted 
at  Pomfret  station.  Changed  as  she  was,  who  could  recog- 
nize in  the  pale,  haggard,  gray-haired,  veiled  woman  the  once 
beautiful  Ethel  Leslie.  She  wended  her  way  to  the  house 
of  the  presiding  Judge;  she  rang  the  door  bell  and  was 
ushered  into  his  library.  He  was  not  there  and  she  sat 
down  to  wait  for  him.  Soon  he  entered.  She  lifted  her 
veil  and  confronted  him. 

He  looked  at  her  for  one  moment  as  if  in  doubt  of  her 
identity,  then  he  exclaimed: 

"  Mrs.  Vance  ! " 

"  Yes  !   I  am  Mrs.  Vance." 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  Florida  ! " 

"  Four  day  ago  I  was  there.  In  an  old  newspaper  I  saw 
an  account  of  Benny  Moore's  trial  and  I  came  north.  Tell 
me  about  that  trial." 

"You  are  not  strong  enough,  Mrs.  Vance.  You  are 
weak  and  fatigued  after  your  journey." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  impatiently,"  tell  me  about  the  trial. 
I  must,  I  will  know." 

So  the  old  Judge  told  her  all.  The  darkness  fell  and  the 
room  grew  dim  and  yet  the  white-faced  woman  sat  silent 
before  him  with  clenched  hands,  and  eyes  that  stared  at 
him  as  if  they  would  search  out  the  very  secrets  of  his  soul. 
Once  or  twice  he  thought  she  was  dead,  she  was  so  still; 
but  yet  she  bade  him  go  on;  to  tell  her  all. 

Then  when  he  was  done  she  rose  to  her  full  height  before 
him. 

"  Listen  to  what  I  say,"  she  said;  "  I  shall  not  tell  you 
a  dream.  What  was  supposed,  was  right.  Through  the 
glass  transom  I  saw  thefj-obber,  but  it  was  not  Benny  Moore. 
Take  me  to  where  I  can  swear  to  that  and  let  an  innocent 
man  go  free." 

The  old  judge  sprang  to  his  feet. 


DETECTIVE  WOKK:.  145 


"  You  did  see  the  robber,"  he  said;  "  and  it  was  not 
Benny  Moore  !  Who  was  it  then? 

"  Alas  !  "  she  answered  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hands 
as  if  to  hide  some  fearful  sight  and  bending  her  head  as  if 
in  shame;  "  Alas  !  That  I  may  not  tell." 

"  This  must  be  looked  into,"  said  the  Judge.  "  But  now 
you  are  weak  and  tired.  "Will  you  go  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  wearily.  "  I  will  go  home,  home  to  my 
father's  house.  Go  you  first  and  prepare  them  for  my  com- 
ing, and  I  will  follow." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DETECTIVE  WORK. 

BUT  what  had  the  detectives  been  doing  all  this  while  ? 
Had  Price  been  idle  ?  No.  But  for  a  long  time  his  searches 
had  been  barren  of  all  results.  He  had  gone  to  Boston  to 
follow  the  clue  which  he  had  obtained  at  the  railroad  station. 
But  though  he  made  a  thorough  search  among  the  hotels, 
boarding-houses  and  amid  the  hackmen,  he  could  not  get 
upon  his  track  and  he  had  gone  back  to  New  York  baffled 
and  discouraged. 

There  he  sought  to  discover  traces  of  the  negotiation 
of  some  of  the  stolen  securities.  But  for  a  long  time  he 
could  find  no  traces,  no  sign,  of  any  attempt  to  negotiate 
them.  At  length,  however,  he  determined  to  make  the 
round  of  all  the  bankers  and  brokers'  offices  in  New  York 
— to  go  as  an  investor  seeking  for  information  about  certain 
securities. 

He  took  the  list  which  Captain  Delaney  had  given  to 
him,  and  sought  out  those  securities  which  were  not  listed 
on  the  Stock  Exchange,  believing  that  they  were  more  likely 


146  THE    POMFKET   ilYSTEKY. 

to  be  remembered  than  stocks  and  bonds  which,  were  dealt 
in  every  day.  He  committed  these  to  memory  and  then 
strolled  among  the  brokers'  offices  asking  about  them. 

For  a  long  while  he  could  get  no  satisfactory  reply,  but 
one  day  he  strolled  into  the  office  of  Merrihew  &  Williams, 
and  found  there  a  clerk  who  had  a  faint  remembrance  of 
having  once  entered  upon  the  books  a  sale  of  some  Massachu- 
setts Railroad  bonds.  Still  the  clerk  was  not  sure;  he  might 
have  seen  the  name  of  the  railroad  when  looking  up  other 
securities;  but  the  name  had  a  familiar  sound  and  he  was 
quite  sure  that  he  had  seen  the  name  before.  Price  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  him  sufficiently  to  induce  him  to 
promise  to  look  over  the  books.  For  a  day  or  two  Price 
did  not  go  back  to  that  office,  but  spent  his  time  in  making 
inquiries  of  other  brokers.  One  or  two  did  remember  that 
the  bonds  he  mentioned  were  among  the  list  of  those  stolen 
from  the  Pomfret  Bank  and  notified  the  police  of  his  in- 
quiries— with  what  result  may  be  imagined. 

When  Price  did  go  back  to  Merrihew  &  Williams,  the 
clerk,  who  was  thorough-going  young  fellow,  had  looked  up 
the  sale  and  found  its  entry.  At  Price's  request  he  showed 
him  the  entry — fifty  bonds,  due  1910,  7  per  cent.,  $1000, 
each,  sold  on  account  of  C.  Van  Duzer  to  Johnson  &  Iddings. 

Fifty  bonds — the  same  number  as  were  stolen  from  the 
bank — the  numbers  not  given.  Price  knew  that  he  had  two 
things  to  do — first,  to  find  out  the  numbers  of  the  bonds 
stolen;  that  was  easy,  he  had  only  to  write  to  Pomfret; 
second,  to  find  out  the  numbers  of  the  bonds  sold,  that  was 
not  so  easy;  and  thirdly,  and  most  difficult  of  all,  to  discover 
the  seller,  "  C.  Van  Duzer." 

Price  could  find  no  one  to  tell  him  what  C.  Van  Duzer 
looked  like.  He  was  a  chance  customer.  There  were  so 
many  of  those  coming  and  going  that  the  clerks  could  not 
tell  whether  this  particular  one  was  short  or  tall,  stout  or 


DETECTIVE  WOKK.  147 

thin,  bearded  or  clean  shaven.  It  was  not  much  of  a  clue, 
perhaps  no  clue  at  all,  for  the  date  of  the  sale  was  previous 
to  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  but  Price  determined  that,  even 
if  it  was  only  a  coincidence,  that  this  amount  of  bonds 
rarely  dealt  in  should  be  sold  and  stolen,  he  would  follow 
the  matter  up,  until  he  at  least  discovered  the  serial  num- 
bers of  the  bonds  sold  and  the  bonds  stolen.  If  these  num- 
bers were  different  then  his  labor  would  be  wasted,  but  in 
all  his  experience  he  had  never  neglected  trifles,  and  often 
had  they  led  him  to  success. 

So  he  sought  out  the  firm  who  had  bought  them,  and 
learned  from  them  that  they  had  sold  them  to  an  insurance 
company  at  Hartford. 

Price  took  the  train  to  Hartford  and  saw  those  bonds. 
Their  numbers  were  the  same  as  those  stolen  from  the  bank. 
Here  was  a  mystery.  The  "  trifle,"  had  led  to  a  mystery— 
for  how  could  bonds  be  stolen  from  a  bank  in  Pomfret  at  a 
time  when  they  were  securely  locked  up  in  the  vaults  of  an 
insurance  company  in  Hartford  ?  He  became  more  anxious 
to  find  "  0.  Van  Duzer." 

He  went  back  to  New  York  to  Merrihew  &  Williams  and 
frankly  told  them  his  whole  case.  They  were  interested. 
In  most  men  the  hunter  instinct  is  strong — an  inheritance 
from  the  old  days  when  the  ancestors  of  mankind  were 
savages— they  feel  a  fierce  delight  in  tracking  their  prey, 
whether  it  be  man  or  beast.  And  when  Price  told  that 
firm  of  stock-brokers  that  he  had  never  ceased  to  believe 
that  the  thieves  had  an  accomplice  among  the  employees  of 
the  bank  Merrihew  himself  volunteered  to  go  with  Price  to 
Pomfret  to  see  if  he  could  recognize  their  quondam  customer 
among  the  Pomfret  people.  So  much  interested  was  he  that 
he  even  shaved  off  the  beard  that  he  had  worn  for  the  last 
twenty  years  that  he  might  not  be  recognized. 

They  did  not  go  to  Pomfret.      While  they  were  in  the 


148  THE    POMFBE      MYSTEEY. 

train  on  their  way  there  a  man  got  into  their  car  at  Hartford, 
and  the  broker,  plucking  Price  by  the  sleeve,  whispered, 
"  That's  the  man  !" 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Price,  "  it  is  Ephraim  Chester — the 
cashier  of  the  bank." 

"  It  is  the  same  man,"  whispered  the  broker  excitedly, 
"  much  grayer  than  when  he  came  to  us,  but  I  would  swear 
to  him  anywhere." 

There  were  not  many  people  in  the  car,  and  Price,  rising, 
went  over  and  touched  the  cashier  on  the  shoulder.  The 
cashier  looked  up. 

"  Mr.  Chester,  I  believe  ?  "  said  Price. 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  said  the  cashier. 

"You  do  not  know  me,"  continued  Price;  "I  met  you 
in  Pomfret,  I  was  visiting  at  the  Moores  when  the  bank  was 
robbed.  My  name  is  Price." 

•  "  Ah,  Mr.  Price,"  responded  the  cashier,  "  I  must  beg 
your  pardon.  I  had  forgotten,  but  I  remember  you  now. 
Will  you  not  be  seated  ?  " 

Price  took  the  proffered  seat,  and  then  remarked,  "  I  am 
going  to  Pomfret  to  look  up  a  man  named  C.  Van  Duzer. 
Do  you  happen  to  know  any  one  there  of  that  name  ?  " 

The  cashier  started  and  grew  pale.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  his  throat  was  suddenly  parched  and  his  tongue  seemed 
to  be  paralyzed.  Price  watched  him  and  his  manner 
changed,  and  he  said  sternly,  though  low,  so  that  others 
could  not  hear. 

"  You  will  consider  yourself  my  prisoner,  Mr.  Chester,  I 
am  a  detective." 

Still  the  cashier  said  nothing,  and  Price  continued; 

"  I  am  not  alone.  I  have  a  friend  here.  Let  me  suggest 
that  you  leave  the  train  with  us  at  Willimantic.  You  may, 
perhaps,  save  yourself  from  State's  prison  by  confessing  and 
We  will  be  less  noticed  there  than  in  Pomfret." 


14.Q 

DETECTIVE  WORK. 


The  cashier  muttered  a  hoarse  consent,  and  all  three  got 
off  the  train  at  Willimantic. 

«  Now  sir  "  said  Price  to  Chester,  when  they  had  been 
shown  to  their  room  at  the  hotel,  "you  will  tell  us  abont 
the  robbery  of  the  bank.  First  let  me  say  to  you  however, 
that  you  did  wisely  to  make  no  disturbance  on  the  tram. 
You  could  not  have  escaped  from  me,  and  you  would  only 
have  given  public  notoriety  to  your  arrest.  I  have  no 
desire/'  Price  continued,  "to  inflict  any  punishment  on 
vou  but  I  desire  to  acquit  Mr.  Moore  and  convict  Arthur 
Vance.  He  robbed  the  bank  and  you  gave  him  the  com- 
bination of  the  safe." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  cashier. 

"You  had  perviously  sold  some  of  the  securities  of  the 

bank." 

"  Do  you  know  that,  too  ?  " 

The  broker  here  stepped  forward.     "Mr.  Van  Duzer 
he  said,  "  perhaps  you  may  not  recognize  me  with  my  beard 
shaved  off,  but  I  am  John  Merrihew." 

The  cashier  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  white, 
pallid  face.  At  last  he  spoke.  "  Mr.  Merrihew,"  he  said, 
''  I  know  you  to  be  an  honest  man,  and  what  you  say  may 
be  relied  upon.  If  you  will  give  me  your  word  that  I  shall 
go  free,  I  will  tell  you  all  that  I  know  " 

"You  may  give  that  promise,"  said  Price,  "and  I  will 
back  you  up  in  it.     This  conversation  will  not  be  used 
against  you,  Mr.  Chester,  and  if  others  would  disclose  your 
guilt  they  must  discover  it  for  themselves. 
3  «  Then  I  will  tell  you  all,"  answered  the  cashier,     and 
shall  be  glad  to  confess  it,  for  it  has  been  a  heavy  burden 
upon  my  soul  and  I  have  sometimes  felt  that  it  would  drive 

^"Tfew  nights  before  the  robbery,  Vance  came  to  me 
and  asked  me  to  take  a  walk  with  him.     It  was  about  eight 


150  THE    POMFKET    MTSTEEY. 

o'clock  in  the  evening  when  we  left  my  house  and  walked 
up  the  highway  through  the  town.  The  incidents  of  that 
night  are  burned  into  my  brain.  I  have  dreamed  them 
over  many  a  time,  and  waked  to  a  horrible  dread  that  in  my 
sleep  I  had  told  them  aloud.  I  can  never  forget  them. 
The  whole  scene,  the  very  words  he  used,  the  very  way  he 
looked,  are  stamped  indelibly  in  my  memory.  We  walked 
on  until  the  open  fields  lay  on  either  side  of  us  and  the  town 
far  behind. 

"  It  was  a  calm,  still  Spring  night.  One  of  those  warm, 
almost  oppressively  warm,  nights  that  come  sometimes  to- 
ward the  close  of  March.  The  stars  shone  bright  in  the 
dark,  clear,  blue  sky;  there  was  no  moon  nor  cloud  to  dim 
their  glory.  I  remember  that  the  air  was  very  still;  that 
the  insect  world  had  not  yet  awakened  from  its  winter  sleep, 
and  only  the  cry  of  the  night  hawk,  the  hooting  of  an  owl, 
or  the  distant  barking  of  a  watch  dog,  broke  the  silence. 

"  At  last  I  stopped  and  jokingly  said,  '  This  road  leads 
to  Hartford,  as  I  suppose  you  know,  Mr.  Vance.  Do  you 
mean  to  walk  me  there  ? ' 

"  Vance  also  stopped  and  faced  me.  *  I  might  as  well  do 
so/  he  said;  '  there  is  a  State's  prison  at  Hartford.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean?'  I  asked,  and  even  in  the  dim 
starlight  Vance  could  see  that  I  trembled. 

"  '  There  are  fifty  thousand  dollars  of  Massachusetts  Rail- 
road bonds  on  the  books  of  the  bank  and  not  in  the  safe/ 
said  he. 

"  '  You  are  wrong/  I  answered  eagerly;  '  they  are  in  the 
upper  left  hand  corner,  wrapped  in  brown  paper  and  sealed 
and  indorsed.' 

"  '  The  seals  and  the  indorsment  are  there,  but  the  pack- 
age contains  only  brown  paper.' 

"  '  Great  God  !  The  bank  has  been  robbed  ! '    I  cried, 

fi  'As you  say.' 


DETECTIVE   WOKK.  151 

"  '  Have  you  told  the  Squire  ? ' 
"  '  No  one  knows  it  but  you  and  I.' 
"  '  Who  could  have  taken  them?' 

"  '  Perhaps  Wall  Street  brokers  could  give  yon  some  in- 
formation/ 

"'My  God  ! '  said  I,  sinking  helplessly  down  upon  a  stone 
by  the  road  side,  '  you  know  all,  then.' 

"  '  I  have  learnt  to  remember  faces/  he  answered.  '  I  saw 
you  in  Wall  Street,  and  1  know  that  you  speculated,  and 
lost,  that  you  took  those  bonds  to  make  good  your  margins, 
and  that  the  entries  on  the  books  have  been  falsified  ever 
since/ 

"  '  My  God  !  What  will  you  do  ? ' 

"  '  Save  you  man  !  D n  you,  brace  up.     Don't  trem- 
ble like  that,  and  stop  your  teeth  chattering.     You  make 
me  shiver.' 
"  'Save  me?' 
"  'Yes,  save  you.' 
"  'How?' 

"  'Can't  you  guess?' 
"  'No!' 

"  Vance  bent  down  and  whispered,  '  Let  the  bank  be 
robbed.' 

"  '  What ! '  said  I,  starting,  '  No  !  No  ! ' 
"  '  I  tell  you,  yes.     That  is  the  only  way  you  can  be 
saved.     There  will  be  an  examination  of  the  securities  be- 
fore long.     You  will  be  found  out.     And  you  know  the 
penalty  as  well  as  I  do.' 

"  '  Twenty  years  at  hard  labor  ! ' 
"  '  I  believe  that's  it.' 
"  '  But  the  bonds  will  show  in  the  books?' 
"  '  Of  course.     So  much  the  better  for  you.' 
'  •''  Again  Vance  bent  down  and  whispered  to  me.     He 
told  me  that  I  had  only  to  leave  the  combination  of  the  safe 


152  THE    POMFKET    MYSTEKY. 

where  it  could  be  found.  That  then  friends  of  his  would 
do  the  rest,  and  he  promised  me  ten  thousand  dollars  if 
the  scheme  worked. 

"  'I  will  not  do  it/  said  I  aloud.  '  As  you  say,  I  am  a 
ruined  man.  I  will  not  plunge  deeper  in  crime.  I  will 
tell  all  to-morrow.  I  will  tell  how  you  have  tempted 
me.' 

"  '  You  refuse,  then?' 

"  '  Yes,  I  refuse.  I  have  been  bad  enough.  I  will  con- 
fess my  crime  and  take  my  punishment.' 

"  '  Twenty  years  at  hard  labor? ' 

"  '  Better  that  than  a  heavier  punishment  for  a  crime  such 
as  you  propose.' 

"  'So  you  refuse  ?' 

"  M  do.     I  will  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to-morrow.' 

"  'And  accuse  me?' 

"  'And  accuse  you.' 

"  'And  who  will  believe  you  ?  What  reason  could  I  have 
for  such  an  action  ?  Your  crime  will  be  proved  and  your 
accusation  against  me  will  be  taken  as  simple  spite  for  my 
discovery.' 

"  '  Nevertheless  I  will  tell  all.' 

"  '  Your  wife  and  sister  are  well  provided  for,  then?' 

"  '  Oh,  God,  they  have  not  one  cent  except  my  salary.' 

"  '  You  will  continue  to  support  them  from  your  earn- 
ings in  State's  prison,  I  suppose  ? ' 

"  '  My  God  !  my  God  ! ' 

"  '  It  will  be  a  pleasant  thing  for  you  to  stand  in  the 
felon's  dock  in  Pomfret  Court  House.  The  mills  will  un- 
doubtedly give  their  hands  a  holiday  to  see  the  show  ! ' 

'  "My  God!  my  God!' 

'  "  Your  wife  will  be  pleased  to  be  told  of  your  little  mis- 
fortune, I  suppose  ? ' 

"  'Oh,  my  God!' 


DETECTIVE   "WORK.  153 

"  '  At  what  hour  shall  I  tell  Squire  Leslie  that  you  wish 
to  speak  to  him  ? ' 

"  '  I  am  in  your  power  !'  I  exclaimed,  despairingly. 

"  '  Yes,  I  should  think  you  were/ 

"  '  But  what  if  I  am  discovered?'  I  asked. 

"  Tool!  Coward!'  exclaimed  he,  'you  never  will  be. 
You  will  be  away,  or  at  home,  or  sick  under  the  Doctor's 
care,  anywhere  you  like.  Here,  drink  this,'  and  he  handed 
me  his  brandy  flask. 

"  I  took  a  long  drink  and  then  we  two  walked  back  to 
tne  village. 

"  'You  will  be  silent?'  said  Yance  as  we  reached  my 
house. 

"  '  As  the  grave/ 

"  '  Good  night/ 

"  'Goodnight/ 

"  Only  a  few  day  after  that — it  was  on  a  Monday — he 
came  again  to  me  and  bade  me  place  the  combination  of 
the  safe  next  Wednesday  night  in  a  drawer  that  he  pointed 
out.  He  himself  left  for  Chicago  that  evening. 

"  When  Wednesday  came  I  did  as  he  had  told  me,  for  I 
dared  not  refuse.  I  placed  a  memorandum  of  the  combina- 
tion where  he  had  directed  me,  and  I  gave  a  false  com- 
bination to  the  Squire.  I  went  home  and  pleading  illness 
sent  for  the  doctor.  And  I  was  ill.  The  doctor  came  and, 
as  you  know,  gave  me  something  to  make  me  sleep  all 
night,  and  when  I  waked  next  morning  I  heard  that  the 
bank  was  robbed. 

"  Since  then  my  life  has  been  a  hell  to  me.  Were  it  not 
for  my  wife  and  sister  I  should  say,  '  Do  what  you  will  with 
me,'  but  for  their  sakesl  must  live." 

Price  looked  at  the  pale,  cringing  form  of  the  cashier, 
with  contempt. 

"  We  have  given  you  our  promise/'  he  said,     "  What  you 


154  THE    POMFRET    MYSTERY. 

have  told  us  will  not  be  used  until  your  safety  has  been 
provided  for." 

But  when  Price  got  to  Pomfret,  Ethel  had  made  her  con- 
fession and  Benny  Moore  was  free. 

What  was  left  to  the  detective  but  to  search  out  Arthur 
Vance  !  And  Price  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  would  never 
rest  till  he  had  found  him. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

POUND  AND  LOST. 

BUT  Arthur  "Vance,  where  was  he  ?  He  had  left  the  little 
Florida  cottage  and  gone  — no  one  knew  whither. 

When  his  wife  had  not  come  down  for  the  drive,  he  had 
gone  up  stairs  to  see  what  detained  her  and  found  her  ab- 
sent. The  crumpled  newspaper  on  the  floor  told  its  own 
story.  But  where  had  she  gone  ?  Had  the  shock  of  her 
discovery  again  unsettled  her  mind  or  had  she  fled  north- 
ward to  right  the  foul  wrong  done  Benny  Moore. 

The  alarmed  servants  searched  the  house  and  grounds  and 
found  the  horse  and  wagon  gone,  and  Vance,  when  this  was 
reported  to  him,  hastened  to  the  station;  there  was  the  miss- 
ing vehicle  and  Ethel  had  departed  northward  on  the  train. 
What  should  he  do? 

When  he  had  escaped  with  his  booty  and  had  found  him- 
self freed  from  all  fear  of  punishment  for  the  theft,  his 
dreams  of  wealth  were  fully  satisfied,  and  he  had  looked 
forward  to  a  pleasant  life  of  ease,  spent  with  his  wife  in 
traveling  through  new  and  foreign  countries.  But  now 
that  she  had  gone  to  denounce  him,  those  hopes  were  at  an 
end.  He  could  not  realize,  he  did  not  for  a  moment  think, 
that  she  would  refuse  to  criminate  him.  He  knew  that  the 


FOUND  AND  LOST.  155 

great  wrong  he  had  done  was  past  all  hope  of  man's  pardon. 
Flight  was  all  that  was  left  for  him.  Once  more  he  must 
put  his  past  life  away  and  begin  a  new  one. 

When,  after  the  failure  of  the  bank,  the  Squire's  lands 
and  houses  had  been  sold  Vance  had  bought  them  and 
deeded  them  to  his  wife.  He  would  let  them  all  go  as  some 
small  atonement  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  her.  He  had 
still  much/  money,  many  stocks  and  bonds,  hid  away  in  a 
secure  hiding  place  in  New  York;  he  would  get  them  and 
leave  the  country  and  make  a  fresh  life  for  himself  where 
men  knew  not,  and  cared  not  to  know,  his  history. 

So  to  New  York  he  went,  and  following  swiftly  upon  his 

trail  like  blood  hounds  were  the  detectives. 

*  *  *  *  *  # 

"  I  have  come  for  the  goods  I  left  with  you." 
"  You  shall  have  them  all  in  fifteen  minutes. " 
The  speakers  were  two  men.  One  was  of  a  bright  and 
fair  complexion,  with  red  hair  and  a  large  red  beard.  A 
man  of  medium  height,  neatly  and  compactly  built.  He 
wore  a  rough  slouch  hat,  pulled  low  over  his  brows.  A 
coarse  flannel  shirt  and  rough  pea-jacket  and  trousers  of 
rough  blue  cloth.  The  other  was  a  little,  thin,  weazened, 
dried-up  fellow,  with  a  Jewish  cast  of  countenance.  He  was 
neatly  but  plainly  dressed.  His  gray  hair  had  been  recently 
cut.  His  gray  mustache  was  neatly  trimmed.  He  looked 
like  some  quiet  clerk  or  small  tradesman  with  a  safe  con- 
servative business.  Nothing  about  him  showed  his  real 
calling. 

The  house  in  which  they  were  was  on  the  corner,  and  the 
room  where  the  conversation  took  place  was  high  up  under 
the  eaves. 

The  Jew  raised  a  trap  door  in  the  floor  disclosing  a  narrow 
and  deep  hole,  down  which  a  rope  ladder  hung.  Grasping 
it  in  his  hands  he  swung  himself  down,  and  with  the  agility 


156  THE    POMFKET    MYSTERY. 

of  a  cat  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  The  sailor  waited  for 
him.  Soon  the  Jew  reappeared,  a  bundle  slung  over  his 
shoulder,  with  the  ends  grasped  in  his  teeth.  He  had  used 
both  hands  to  climb  with,  and  as  he  put  the  bundle  down, 
he  panted  from  his  exertions. 

The  sailor  took  up  the  bundle  and  placed  it  on  a  rickety 
pine  table  that  stood  near: 

"  IB  it  all  right? "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Captain.  Would  I  go  back  on  such  a  good 
customer  as  you  ?  " 

"  You'd  go  back  on  any  one  if  you  could  make  money  by 
it." 

"  Not  on  you,  Captain.  Have  not  I  always  rendered  to 
you  just  and  true  accounts  for  every  penny's  worth  that  you 
have  ever  left  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  must  confess  you  have." 

The  sailor  sat  himself  down,  and  untying  the  ends  of  the 
bundle  disclosed  a  heap  of  bonds  and  stocks  and  promissory 
notes. 

"  No,"  continued  the  Jew,  while  his  companion  was  thus 
engaged.  "No,  Captain.  Count  them;  you  will  find  them 
right.  Ah  ! "  he  continued,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  this  is  the 
business  that  I  like.  No  risk,  no  exposure,  and  good  pay. 
Count  them,  Captain,  count  them." 

"These  State  bonds,"  said  the  other,  sorting  them  out 
as  he  spoke,  "  these  State  bonds  you  must  buy  from  me  at 
half  their  price." 

"  Indeed,  Captain,  I  have  not  the  money." 

"You  must  get  it  then.  By  to-morrow  noon  I  must 
leave  here.  I  want  exchange  on  London." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so,  I  suppose  I  must,"  said  the  Jew, 
with  a  sigh;  "  but  it  is  a  large  sum." 

"  These  notes,"  continued  the  sailor,  "you  may  keep  for 
what  they  are  worth," 


POUND  AND  LOST.  157 

"  And  that  is  not  much,"  said  the  Jew,  with  a  leer;  "  it 
would  be  safer  to  burn  them." 

"  Burn  them,  then,  if  you  want." 

"No.  I  will  not  do  that.  I  have  some  good  friends 
who  will  give  me  a  few  dollars  for  them." 

" These  stocks;  what  shall  I  do  with  them?" 

"  They  are  bad  things.  Why  not  take  them  abroad  with 
you?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  want  the  bother.  And  these  railroad 
bonds — what  shall  I  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  not  take  them  with  you,  what  shall  I  say?" 

"  You  must  sell  them  as  best  you  can.  Half  of  what  you 
get  is  yours;  half  you  will  remit  to  me,  you  know  where  in 
Paris." 

"  You  will  wish  me  to  collect  the  rents  of  your  houses 
while  you  are  away  ?  " 

"  Yes.     The  old  powers  of  attorney  will  do,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes;  they  will  do." 

"  And  mind,  if  you  have  a  chance  to  sell  any  of  them  you 
will  do  so,  and  send  me  the  money  to  Paris." 

"Yes;  I  will  do  so." 

"  And  here,"  said  the  sailor,  drawing  a  roll  of  bills  from 
an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  "here  is  the  payment  agreed 
upon." 

He  dropped  the  roll  of  bills  on  the  table  hastily,  and 
turned  toward  the  door.  The  Jew  was  already  there  listen- 
ing noiselessly. 

There  was  a  sound  as  if  stealthy  footsteps  were  climbing 
up  the  steep  stairs.  Perhaps  they  were  only  tramps. 

The  two  men  listened.  The  steps  halted  and  the  handle 
of  the  door  was  stealthily  tried.  But  the  door  was  firmly 
bolted.  The  two  men  stood  silent.  There  was  a  sound 
of  subdued  whispering  outside,  then  came  a  rap  at  the 
door. 


158  THE    POMFRET    MYSTERY. 

No  answer.  A  louder  rap.  Still  no  answer.  Then  the 
door  was  shaken  violently  and  a  heavy  object  was  thrown 
violently  against  it,  but  the  strong  iron  bolts  still  held. 

The  Jew  came  softly  to  the  side  of  his  companion  and 
whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  It  is  the  police  !  Quick,  the  roof; "  he  pointed  to  a  scuttle 
door  that  was  above  them,  "  it  is  not  fastened.  Over  the 
roofs  to  the  corner  house;  there  is  the  tunnel;  quick  ! " 

There  was  no  time  to  delay.  The  sailor  sprang  up  the 
ladder  and  threw  the  scuttle  open  and  fled  over  the  roofs. 
The  Jew  gave  one  glance  after  him. 

"  Fool,"  he  muttered,  "  he  has  left  the  scuttle  open." 

With  one  catlike  bound  he  was  at  the  side  of  the  table. 
He  seized  the  roll  of  bills  and  the  State  bonds  and  dropped 
them  down  the  opening.  Then  with  one  spring  he  jumped 
down  upon  the  rope  ladder. 

He  was  none  too  soon.  The  trap  door  fell  just  as  the 
bolts  and  bars  yielded,  and  Price  and  two  other  men  were 
precipitated  into  the  room.  It  was  empty;  but  the  securi- 
ties scattered  about  and  the  open  scuttle  told  the  tale. 

"  Johnson  stay  here.  Wilson  follow  me,"  shouted  Price 
as  he  sprung  up  the  ladder  to  the  roof. 

Five  houses  off  they  saw  the  man  they  were  pursuing. 
Their  only  hope  now  was  that  the  scuttles  would  be  closed. 
Vain  hope  !  The  man  stooped  and  lifted  the  furthest  one. 
Quick  as  a  flash  Price  drew  a  pistol  and  fired  as  the  sailor 
disappeared  down  the  scuttle. 

"  Quick,"  cried  Price,  as  he  looked  down  and  saw  that 
the  man  had  still  continued  his  flight;  and  he  swung  him- 
self down  through  the  opening. 

Still  the  stranger  hurried  downward.  His  right  arm  hung 
useless  by  his  side.  He  felt  the  warm  blood  trickle  from 
his  shoulder,  where  the  bullet  had  struck  him.  His  shirt 
grew  wet  and  clung  to  him.  He  glanced  back  and  saw  red 


A   CONFESSION.  159 

stains  on  the  wooden  stairs.  He  heard  the  heavy  footsteps 
of  the  detectives  as  they  followed  him. 

He  reached  the  cellar  at  last.  There  was  an  empty  hogs- 
head on  its  side  with  the  head  out.  He  plunged  into  it  and 
crawled  onward.  It  was  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  that  led 
under  the  street  to  the  house  opposite.  Once  there,  and 
the  detective  baffled,  there  were  other  means  of  escape.  He 
paused  to  regain  his  breath  and  listened.  There  were  voices 
behind  him,  but  not  in  the  tunnel.  He  was  safe. 

He  listened  again  and  he  heard  a  voice,  that  he  knew 
was  that  of  Price,  exclaim: 

"Arthur  Vance,"  it  said,  "you  have  escaped  me  once 
again,  but  I  swear  that  I  will  have  you  yet." 


CHAPTEE  XXI. 

A  CONFESSION. 

BENNY  MOORE,  a  free  man  once  more,  returned  to  New 
York.  The  experience  which  he  had  undergone  had 
robbed  him  of  all  light-heartedness,  and  though  he  was  not 
yet  forty  years  of  age  his  misfortunes  had  streaked  his  hair 
and  beard  with  silver  and  saddened  his  life,  so  that  now  he 
seldom  smiled. 

Into  the  lives  of  most  men  there  comes  some  great  calam- 
ity which  marks  the  boundary  between  old  age  and  the 
years  before  it.  "So  it  was  with  Benny.  Though  all  the 
joys  that  the  world  knows  might  be  hereafter  heaped  upon 
him — though  he  might  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  of  age — 
though  second  childhood  might  come  to  him,  yet  he  could 
never  be  the  same  as  he  was  before  the  tragedy  at  Pomfret. 
Though  memory  itself  should  die  the  old  spirit  would  not 
return  to  him. 


160  THE   fOMFRET  MYSTEKY. 

It  is  always  sad  to  see  a  man  old  before  his  time — sad  to 
think  of  the  tragedy  which  has  made  him  old — but  the 
spectacle  is  sadder  yet  when  he  is  aged  through  no  fault  of 
his — most  sad  when  the  vindictiveness  or  unscrupulousness 
of  another  has  brought  about  the  change. 

In  vain  Benny  threw  himself  heartily  into  his  work:  the 
memory  of  his  imprisonment  hung  like  a  cloud  about  him, 
making  him  heartsick  and  weary.  If  he  could  only  have 
yielded  to  the  promptings  and  yearnings  of  his  heart  he 
would  have  gone  to  some  desert  place  and  hid  himself  from 
the  sight  of  all  mankind. 

He  sat  one  evening  in  his  office  in  Nassau  Street.  He 
had  come  down  late  from  court,  and  wearied  by  his  forensic 
efforts,  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chair,  and  sat  moodily 
gazing  into  the  fire  The  afternoon's  mail  lay  unopened  on 
his  desk,  and  papers  relating  to  business  of  the  morrow  were 
scattered  about.  He  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  task  of  read- 
ing them. 

His  mind  was  busy  with  the  memory  of  the  years  gone 
by.  He  thought  he  was  a  boy  again,  with  all  his  boyish 
hopes,  ambitions  and  fears  surging  in  his  breast.  He  lived 
again  the  pleasant  years  of  his  life.  Ethel  Leslie,  as  she 
was  then,  sat  by  his  side  as  he  drove  his  fleet  horse  over  the 
country  roads.  The  well-remembered  landscapes  were  pic- 
tured to  his  mind,  and  then,  like  the  shifting  of  a  scene  upon 
the  stage,  the  memory  of  the  tragedy  whose  shadow  had 
fallen  so  heavily  and  grimly  upon  him  came  like  a  sudden 
flight  of  darkness,  shrouding  the  bright  scenes  of  memory 
in  a  thick  gloom. 

The  hum  of  the  busy  world  outside  at  last  roused  him 
from  his  dreams  and  they  fled  away.  He  sighed  wearily, 
and  with  an  effort  turned  to  his  desk.  One  letter  lay  there 
in  a  strange  handwriting.  He  picked  it  up  and  idly  glanced 
at  its  superscription,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  scarcely 


A    CONFESSION.  161 

energy  enough  to  open  and  read  it.  He  was  about  to  lay  it 
down  when  the  foolishness  of  thus  yielding  to  bitter  memor- 
ies flashed  across  his  mind,  and  he  tore  the  envelope  open 
and  unfolded  the  paper  that  it  contained.  The  writing  was 
unfamiliar  to  him  and  the  paper  itself  bore  the  heading  of 
Sing  Sing  prison.  It  was  not  long,  a  glance  or  two  sufficed 
to  put  him  in  the  knowledge  of  its  contents,  which  were  as 
follows: 

"  SIR  : 

"  James  Mulvany — alias  Red  Dick — lies  now  sick  unto 
death,  in  the  Hospital  of  this  prison.  He  prays  you  to  come 
to  him  as  he  has  something  to  confess  to  you.  I  know  not 
wliat  it  is — but  that  you  will  come  is  his  request. 

11  He  has  not  many  days  to  live,  and  if  you  decide  to  come, 
you  must  do  so  quickly  if  you  would  see  Mm  alive, 
"lam,  sir, 

"  Very  respectfully, 

"THOMAS  GRIFFITH, 

"Chaplain." 

Benny  thought  over  the  name.  Some  one  of  his  old 
clients,  he  thought;  and  yet  the  name  was  not  familiar  to 
him,  and  somehow  his  memory  failed  to  recall  it.  Lighting 
the  gas,  for  the  afternoon  had  waned  and  the  gray  twilight 
of  the  winter  day  was  deepening  into  the  gloom  of  night,  he 
took  down  his  old  ledger  and  ran  his  eye  down  the  index 
pages  searching  for  the  name.  It  was  not  there.  Still  he 
might  have  borne  some  other  alias  when  Benny  defended 
him. 

"  Still/'  thought  Benny,  "to-morrow  I  need  not  be  in 
court  and  I  will  take  a  run  up  to  Sing  Sing  and  hear  what 
he  has  to  say." 

So  on  the  morrow  the  Central  train  bore  Benny  Moore, 
6 


162  THE   POilFKET  MYSTE&Y. 

well  wrapped  up  and  defended  from  the  cold,  past  the  icy 
shores  and  snow-clad  banks  of  the  Hudson,  up  to  that  little 
town  which  has  gained  such  notoriety  as  the  locality  of  the 
State's  prison. 

Leaving  the  train  and  jumping  into  a  sleigh  Benny  was 
soon  gliding  up  the  steep  hill-side  road  that  led  from  the 
river.  He  drove  to  the  long  row  of  gray-stone  buildings  and 
brick  sheds,  and  showing  his  letter,  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  the  chaplain,  and  in  a  few  minutes  stood  by  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  criminal. 

"  At  last! "  the  sick  man  said;  "  I  have  prayed  that  you 
might  come,  and  at  last  you  are  here.  Send  the  rest  away, 
what  I  have  to  tell  is  for  your  ear  alone." 

"  If  you  have  any  confession  to  make,"  Benny  rejoined, 
"  it  would  be  better  if  there  were  other  witnesses  besides 
myself  present." 

"  No! "  exclaimed  the  convict.  "  Do  you  think  I  mean  to 
'peach'  upon  my  pals?  I  would  sooner  die  first." 

"I  think  that  we  had  better  grant  his  request,"  Benny 
said,  and  so  the  chaplain  and  the  nurse  retired;  but  ere 
they  left  the  nurse  placed  a  cordial  by  the  bedside,  and 
said: 

"  If  he  grows  weak,  a  teaspoonful  of  this  will  revive  him." 

"  Come  near  to  me,"  said  the  sick  man,  "  for  I  am  weak 
and  my  voice  is  faint  and  I  have  much  to  tell  you." 

Benny  did  as  reqiiested,  and  the  convict  continued: 

"  I  was  one  of  those,"  he  said,  "  who  robbed  the  Pomfret 
Bank.  There  were  several  in  the  gang,  and  our  chief  ar- 
ranged our  several  duties  for  us.  He  and  I  alone  were  to 
enter  the  safe;  the  others  were  to  keep  watch  outside  and 
to  aid  us  in  our  flight. 

"  In  pursuance  of  our  plan  we  came  to  Pomfret  about  a 
week  before  the  robbery,  and  in  the  disguise  of  Avorkmen  on 
the  railroad  we  learned  the  different  roads  and  avenues  of 


A  CONFESSION".  163 

escape.  On  the  Sundays  that  we  were  there  we  roamed 
over  the  country  and  made  ourselves  acquainted  with  the 
habits  of  the  townsfolk. 

"  There  was  a  woman  in  our  gang,  and  she  was  to  come 
to  Pomfret  and  aid  in  carrying  off  the  plunder. 

"  Three  nights  before  the  robbery  I  stole  out  into  the 
woods  that  the  townsfolk  call  their  Park.  I  had  been  a  coun- 
try-lad in  the  old  country,  before  I  came  over  here,  and 
many  (times  had  poached  in  the  woods  and  streams  about 
my  father's  home.  I  knew  that  there  were  rabbits  in  the 
Park  at  Pomfret  and  fish  in  the  river,  and  a  longing  came 
over  me  to  do  as  I  had  done  in  my  youthful  days,  and  so  I 
stole  quietly  forth,  as  I  was  wont  to  do  in  the  old  country. 

"  I  had  set  my  snares  in  the  river,  and  was  fixing  my 
traps  on  the  land,  when  I  heard  voices  approaching,  and  I 
shrunk  quietly  back  among  the  bushes.  The  speakers  were 
talking  in  low  subdued  tones  and  had  approached  near  to 
me  before  I  heard  them.  They  passed  within  scarce  a  dozen 
feet  from  my  hiding-place,  and  I  recognized  the  voices  of 
our  chief  and  a  woman  of  our  gang,  who  was  supposed  to 
be  in  New  York.  They  passed  by  me  and  I  stole  noiselessly 
after  them  until  they  seated  themselves  upon  a  fallen  log. 
I  flung  myself  upon  my  belly,  and  crawled  quietly  until  I 
was  so  close  that  I  could  almost  have  heard  their  slightest 
whisper. 

"  '  And  now,  Adele/  I  heard  che  chief  say,  '  what  brings 
you  here  at  this  time,  when  you  know  the  business  on  which 
we  are  engaged,  and  how  necessary  that  we  should  remain 
unknown  ? ' 

"  '  I  know  it  all/  she  answered,  '  and  you  need  not  be 
alarmed;  no  one  has  seen  me  here,  no  one  will  see  me  leave 
here.  But  oh,  Arthur,  my  heart  misgives  me.  I  have 
dreamed  of  you  during  the  past  nights.  I  saw  you  chased 
by  furious  animals,  they  tore  along  your  tracks  as  you  sped 


164  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

swiftly  before  them.  You  were  very  pale  and  your  breath 
came  in  gasps,  and  they  gained  on  you  inch  by  inch,  foot  by 
foot,  until  they  seemed  about  to  spring  upon  you.7 

"  The  chief  threw  back  his  head  and  I  heaid  the  sound 
of  low  laughter  as  the  woman  continued: 

"  '  Laugh  not/  she  said,  t  for  I  dreamed  again,  and  saw 
you  all  alone  with  thick  darkness  about  you.  You  seemed 
chained  to  the  ground,  and  I  heard  your  moans,  as  if  you 
were  in  agony.  Suddenly  the  darkness  lifted,  and  then  I 
saw  that  you  were  smeared  with  blood.  Your  face  had 
streaks  of  crimson  over  it,  your  hair  was  matted  with  clots 
of  curdled  gore,  and  from  your  hands,  as  you  moved  them 
to  and  fro,  drops  of  blood  fell. 

" '  Again  I  dreamed,  and  I  saw  a  dim,  shadowy  figure 
wringing  its  hands  as  if  in  woeful  grief,  and  I  heard  a  voice 
which  cried  imploringly,  "  Save  him!  Save  him! "  And  then 
I  knew  that  the  figure  was  Ethel  Leslie,  and  the  voice  was 
her  voice.  These  dreams  portend  disaster,  perhaps  death, 
death  to  you,  and  I  have  hurried  here  to  beg  you  to  defer 
your  action  until  some  more  auspicious  time.' 

"  '  Heard  any  man  ever  so  foolish  a  request?'  muttered 
our  chief. 

"  '  Do  not  say  no! '  implored  the  woman.  '  I  have  been  a 
faithful  servant  to  you !  I  have  done  your  bidding  in  every- 
thing. I  have  nursed  you  in  sickness.  I  have  been  gay 
with  you  when  prosperity  shone  upon  you.  I  have  been 
sad  when  you  would  be  sad.  And  now,  I  implore  you  grant 
me  this  one  request.'  And  I  could  see  that  she  knelt  to 
him. 

"  *  It  is  enough,'  the  chief  said,  rising, '  you  have  told  me 
what  you  have  done  for  me;  shall  I  remind  you  what  /  have 
done  for  you  f  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  found  you  one 
bitter  winter's  night,  a  ragged  match  girl,  half  frozen  at  the 
entrance  of  a  church.  Must  I  narrate  to  you  how  I  clothed 


A   COXFESSIOX.  165 

and  fed  you,  how  you  were  educated,  and  must  I  recount 
the  luxuries  that  I  have  given  you  since  then  ?  And  now, 
forgetting  all  these,  you  come  to  me  with  your  idle  super- 
stitions and  your  foolish  dreams  to  balk  me  just  as  I  see 
success  within  my  grasp  ! ' 

"'I  forget  nothing/  the  woman  answered,  '  I  remember 
all  those  things.  And  by  the  memory  of  them  I  pray  you 
do  not  proceed  with  what  you  have  to  do.  If  not  for  my 
sake,  then  for  the  sake  of  Ethel  Leslie.' 

"  The  chief  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  while  she  was 
speaking;  now  he  turned  suddenly  towards  her  and  savagely 
asked,  '  What  in  the  fiend's  name  has  caused  you  to  plead 
for  her  f ' 

"  '  She  was  kind  to  me,'  the  woman  said,  '  when  I  first 
came  to  Pomfret.  And,  though  my  illness  was  brought  on 
by  myself  in  pursuance  of  the  plan  that  you  bade  me  adopt, 
she  nursed  me  tenderly.  So  when  I  thought  how  she  would 
be  doomed  to  poverty  and  woe,  my  heart  bled  for  her  and  I 
determined  that  it  should  not  be! ' 

"  She  spoke  these  words  with  strong  resolution  and  she 
continued,  '  Therefore,  if  you  refuse  my  prayer,  I  warn  you 
that  I  will  send  a  warning — vague  so  that  no  suspicion  will 
rest  on  you — but  yet  a  warning  which  will  prevent  your 
scheme  from  being  carried  out.' 

"  They  were  facing  each  other  now,  and  her  words  came 
boldly,  in  swift  succession,  yet  never  loudly. 

"  Quick  as  a  flash  I  saw  the  chief  draw  back  and  in  an 
instant  he  struck  her  a  terrific  blow  upon  the  forehead. 
She  dropped  like  a  stone — without  a  groan.  He  stooped 
over  her  while  I  watched  him  with  cold  beads  of  perspira- 
tion standing  upon  my  forehead. 

"  Then  I  saw  him  tie  stones  to  the  body  and  cast  it  into 
the  water.  And  then  when  he  was  gone  I  stole  back  trem- 
bling to  my  lodging  place.  There  was  no  struggle;  the 


166  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

place  where  they  had  stood  was  trampled  down,  and  I  had 
left  tracks  where  I  had  crawled  up  behind  them. 

"  To  make  my  story  short,  for  I  feel  that  my  strength  is 
ebbing  fast,  we  robbed  the  bank  that  Wednesday  night.  You 
had  been  seen  in  town  that  day,  and  the  chief,  to  fix  the 
crime  on  you,  buried  the  notes  upon  your  father's  farm. 

"  I  could  not  die  with  the  knowledge  of  these  crimes 
locked  in  my  breast  alone  and  so  I  sent  for  you/' 

"  One  question  more,"  said  Benny.  "  You  spoke  of  the 
Chief — what  was  his  name  ?  " 

"We  knew  him  only  as  the  '  Chief/"  gasped  the  dying 
man,  "  but  in  Pomfret  they  called  him  Vance." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    RED   FARM-HOUSE. 

ON~CE  more  the  scene  shifts  to  the  low,  broad  farmhouse, 
painted  red,  which  lies  among  the  hills  in  the  heart  of  Ken- 
tucky. In  the  open  doorway  of  the  kitchen  stands  the 
squat  figure  of  an  old,  gray-headed  negro.  It  is  night, 
but  the  full  moon,  high  in  the  heavens,  lights  up  the  fertile 
valley  which  lies  beneath  the  farmhouse,  showing  the  river 
which  flows  there  and  the  white  steeples  that,  rising  up- 
ward, mark  where  the  houses  are  clustered  into  villages. 
A  few  lights  still  gleam  in  the  windows  of  the  distant 
houses,  like  so  many  reflections  of  the  stars,  and  the  sounds 
of  the  night  come  with  a  vague  distinctness. 

The  light  from  the  kitchen  streams  out  of  the  open  door- 
way, as  if  in  vain  emulation  of  the  moonbeams,  and  throws 
the  misshapen  shadow  of  the  negro  almost  down  to  the 
dusty  road  that  runs  in  front  of  the  farmhouse.  But  if 
Grim  Morrow — his  real  name  was  Grimalkin,  early  short- 


THE   KED   FARM-HOUSE.  167    - 

ened  to  Grim— takes  delight  in  standing  there  watching  the 
landscape  and  his  own  grotesque,  exaggerated  shadow, 
Kezia,  the  ebony-faced  negress  within,  who  calls  herself  his 
spouse,  evinces  no  similar  pleasure. 

"  Come  in  dar  an'  shet  de  do/'  she  exclaims;  "  duz  ye 
wan'  ter  git  de  rumtiz  a  stan'in'  in  de  night  air  ?  Sher  de 

do'." 

With  one  last  look  out  into  the  night  Grim  obeys  his 
wife's  commands,  enters  and  shuts  the  door,  but  instead  of 
taking  his  seat,  he  reaches  down  a  battered,  much-worn 
coon-skin  cap  and  an  old  army  cloak. 

"  You  ain't  a  gwine  up  t'  de  cave  dis  night,  is  you,  Grim  ?  " 
Kezia  asks. 

"  Yes,  I  is,  arter  pra'rs,"  he  answers;  "  but  I  ain't  a  gwine 
to  make  much  exploration,  kase  I  mus'  start  early  in  de 
mawning  to  meet  dem  two  Norfern  ladies  dat's  a  coinm'  to 
stay  yere." 

Two  or  three  miles  along  the  road,  and  not  far  from  the 
red  cottage,  is  the  opening  of  one  of  those  gigantic  caves 
that  undermine  the  soil  of  Indiana  and  Kentucky.  Away 
from  the  beaten  track  of  travel,  but  few  strangers  visit  it,  and 
then  they  travel  but  few  miles  from  its  mouth.  But  there 
are  miles  and  miles  of  passages,  stretching  under  the  earth, 
crossing  and  recrossing  each  other  at  different  grades. 
Streams  of  water  flow  there,  in  leaping  cascades  as  their  beds 
descend,  in  quiet  pools  as  their  course  is  level,  and  in  these 
waters  are  eyeless  fish  and  strange  animalculae.  The  galler- 
ies and  great  chambers  of  this  cave  are  inhabited  only  by 
bats  and  owls,  and  through  all  and  over  all  is  the  blackness 
and  silence  of  the  grave. 

Among  all  the  guides  to  this  cave,  Grim  Morrow  was  the 
best.  Even  when  he  was  a  child  the  cave  exerted  a  strange, 
weird  fascination  over  him,  and  in  "  de  days  befo'  de  wah'" 
he  would  spend  all  his  holidays  in  roaming  through  its  gal- 


168  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

lories;  and  later  when  he  was  free  he  had  no  care  for  his 
freedom,  except  that  it  gave  him  more  time  to  spend  in 
searching  out  the  hidden  mysteries  of  the  cavern. 

Of  late  he  has  slipped  away  at  night  and  been  gone  nearly 
until  daybreak.  No  one  knows  of  these  nightly  excursions 
except  Kezia,  and  she  grumbles  at  them,  mostly  because 
when  Grim  disappears  a  loaf  of  bread  and  what  cold  meat 
there  is  disappears  also.  Grim,  when  she  taxed  him  with 
taking  them,  did  not  deny  it,  but  only  said  that  his  travels 
made  him  hungry. 

"  Fool  niggah  you/'  his  wife  had  said  to  him  more  than 
once,  "  ter  go  a  trampazin  frew  dem  ar  dark  tunnils  when 
you  ought  to  be  in  yer  wawm  bed." 

On  the  evening  of  the  following  day  a  country- wagon  was 
slowly  ascending  the  road  that  led  from  the  valley  up  to  the 
little  red  farmhouse.  The  horses  had  journeyed  many  miles 
that  day,  and  were  now  slowly  and  wearily  toiling  up  the 
slope  of  the  hillside  road. 

On  the  front  seat  of  the  wagon  sat  the  driver,  our  negro 
friend,  Grim  Morrow;  and  on  the  back  seat  were  two 
women,  one  sitting  erect  and  straight,  attentive  to  the  scenes 
about  her  and  the  conversation  of  Grim,  the  other  leaning 
wearily  against  the  padded  sides  and  back  of  the  seat,  and 
casting  but  languid  glances  to  the  points  of  interest  as  Grim 
called  attention  to  them. 

"  Yonder,"  said  he,  "yonder  is  the  entrance  ter  de  cave 
dat  I  was  tellin  ye  about,  right  up  dar  by  dem  hazel 
bushes,  and  yere's  de  parf  dat  goes  up  from  de  road  tu  de 
cave.  When  ye  git  inter  de  cave,  dar's  a  great,  long  tunnil 
dat  grows  higher  and  higher  all  de  time." 

"  Wan'  ter  know  ! "  ejaculated  the  elder  of  the  two  trav- 
elers, peering  forward  as  if  to  get  a  better  look  through  the 
gathering  twilight  at  the  black  spot  upon  the  hillside  that 


THE    RED    FAKM-HOUSE.  I69 

marked  the  entrance  to  the  cavern,  while  her  companion 
cast  a  careless  glance  at  it. 

'  <  Yes,  mum, "  continued  the  loquacious  darkey,  and  dat 
yere  tunnil-passage-way  begins  ter  go  down,  down,  gettin' 
right  smart  sort  o'  steep  till'  ye  comes  to  a  great,  big  cham- 
ber-like sort  o'  place,  and  then  when  ye  git  dar  ye  can  go 
fur  miles  an'  miles  f roo  all  sorts  o'  galleries  and  passage-ways 
dat  lead  off  from  dat  chamber." 
' '  Du  tell !  Is  the  walkin'  good  ?  " 

"  Most  ways  it  is,  mum,  fur  de  mos'  of  de  galleries  hab 
got  fine,  hard  san'  strowed  ober  de  floor,  so  dat  de  walkin's 
mostly  easy." 

"  But  ain't  you  likely  to  lose  your  way?" 
"  Yes  'urn,  'taint  safe  to  go  'round  dar  widout  a  guide. 
I  mos'ly  act  as  de  guide  fur  de  folks  as  wan'  tu  'splore  de 
cave,  fur  I've  been  over  miles  an'  miles  ob  it,  but  I  mos' 
done  gone  an'  got  los'  dar  onct  myself." 
"  Sakes  alive  !    How  did  that  happen  ?  " 
"  Well,  mum,  I  was  on  a  'splorin'  trip,  an'  I  come  tu  a 
gallery  dat  I  hadn't  ebber  splored,  an'  I  jest  thought  I'd  see 
where  it  went  tu.     So  I  turned  inter  it  and  I  went  on  an' 
on,  what  seemed  tu  me  a  mighty  long  ways,  an'  I  had  my 
torch  in  myhan',  an'  defust  ting  I  noticed  was  a  foot-print, 
right  in  de  pafway  before  me.    I  was  mighty  skeered,  I  tell 
ye,  fur  I  nebber  knowed  dat  mortal  man  ebber  been  in  dat 
part  ob  de  cave  befo  !  Well,  mum,  I  put  my  torch  down  tu 
de  grown'  clost,  tu  de  footprints,  and  I  seed  dat  de  man  was 
a  gwine  down  de  gallery  de  same  way  I  was.     Den  I  won- 
dered how  long  ago  dat  man  had  been  dar,  fur  ye  see  dat 
san'  will  hole'  de  marks  dat  ye  put  in  'em  fur  ebber  and 
ebber  so  long,  less  ye  rub  'em  out." 

"  I  wan'  ter  know  ! "  said  the  elder  traveler,  looking  with 
increased  interest  at  the  black  spot  on  the  hillside. 

"  Fac'  fur  slmah,  mum  !     Well,  mum,  I  vent  along  and 


170  THE   POMFKET   MYSTEKY. 

dar,  bymeby,  I  come  tu  a  place  wliar  de  feller  had  set  down 
an'  lighted  his  pipe.  Dat  made  me  tink  dat  my  pipe  was  a 
smoked  out,  so  I  sat  down  dar  an'  I  put  de  ashes  ob  my 
pipe  clust  by  de  side  o'  his'n,  an'  I  lighted  my  pipe  an'  went 
on,  fur  I  wanted  tu  see  whar  de  footsteps  would  a  lead  me 
tu." 

"Sakes  alive!" 

"  Fac',  mum  I  went  on  an'  on  'till  bymeby  I  come  tu  a 
gallery  dat  run  acrost  de  one  I  was  on,  an'  dar  I  seed,  a 
turnin'  out  ob  dat  gallery,  de  footsteps  ob  a  nudder  man. 
I  was  'sprized  at  that,  an'  I  went  'long  kin'  o'  cautious,  fur 
I  thought  dat  p'raps  dose  two  folks  might  be  doin'  suthin 
dey  wouldn't  like  dis  yere  niggah  a  spyin'  inter,  an'  I  kep 
a  mighty  clus  watch  out  ahead  fur  de  glimmer  ob  a  light. 
I  went  along  dar  an'  I  begin  tu  get  mighty  tired,  an'  I 
thought  de  pafway  was  a  mighty  long  one,  when  I  c«me  to 
de  place  whar  de  two  men  had  set  down  an'  lighted  dere 
pipes.  Den  I  was  mighty  'sprized,  I  tell  ye,  'till  I  seed  dat 
de  place  was  jus'  like  de  udder  place  whar  I  set  down,  an' 
den  I  seed  dat  it  was  de  same.  Bless  ye,  missy,  I  had  been 
a  followin'  my  own  footsteps  'round  dat  ar  gallery  fur  mos' 
two  hours." 

"  I  wan'ter  know  !     It  must  be  a  skeery  place?" 

"Yes,  'um,  it  is,  'urn.  Dar's  Massa  Morrow's  house,  up 
dar,  de  red  house.  We'll  be  dar  now  'bout  ten  minutes. 
Gee  hup." 

If  any  thing  could  have  roused  Ethel — for  the  younger 
traveler  was  she,  and  Aunt  Martha  was  by  her  side — it 
would  have  been  such  a  couple  as  Grimalkin  Morrow  and  his 
wife.  They  combined  the  childish  gayety  of  their  race  with 
the  simplicity  of  the  plantation  darkey,  and  Ethel,  who  had 
never  before  seen  the  real  Southern  negro  character,  found 
much  to  interest  her  in  these  two  specimens.  To  Aunt 
Martha  they  were  a  perpetual  marvel  and  study.  She  was 


THE    KED   FARMHOUSE.  171 

forever  wondering  at  them  and  at  their  ways,  and  no  sooner 
did  she  begin  to  think  that  she  understood  them  than  some 
new  freak  or  oddity  would  surprise  her  into  wonderment 
again. 

Mr.  Morrow  and  his  wife  were  at  the  door  to  meet  the 
travelers  as  the  dusty  wagon  and  tired  horses  came  to  a 
stop,  and  Kezia's  woolly  head,  buxom  figure  and  smiling  face 
filled  up  the  door- way  behind.  They  gave  a  warm  welcome 
to  the  tired  travelers. 

Aunt  Martha  took  to  them  at  once,  seeing  that  they  were 
kind  and  good,  and  not  likely  to  oppose  their  personality 
to  hers,  and  even  Ethel,  dead  as  her  heart  was,  could  not 
but  be  touched  by  the  chastened  sorrow,  pity  and  sweetness 
of  the  old  woman's  face,  as  she  exclaimed,  "Poor  dear. 
How  tired  you  look.  Kezia,  help  Grim  with  the  trunks, 
and  you  come  with  me,  my  dear,  and  go  right  to  your  room. 
Supper  will  be  ready  in  a  minute,  and  after  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  good  night's  rest  you  will  be  all  right." 

Ethel  could  eat  but  little,  but  the  drive  had  given  Aunt 
Martha  a  vigorous  appetite,  and  she  did  full  justice  to  the 
good  things  on  the  table.  And  as  she  insisted  upon  know- 
ing the  recipe  for  each  new  dish  and  discussed  with  old 
Mrs.  Morrow  the  various  methods  of  cooking  certain  staple 
articles,  the  meal  was  by  no  means  a  silent  one.  Such  a 
conversation,  too,  gave  a  homelike  feeling  to  them  all,  broke 
the  ice  of  strangeness  in  the  best  possible  way,  and  put  them 
on  an  amicable  footing  almost  immediately.  When,  after 
tea,  Aunt  Martha,  who  was  supposed  to  know  every  kind 
of  knitting  stitch,  found  that  the  old  woman  was  using  a 
new  one,  the  two  were  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  were  chat- 
ting with  each  other  in  a  style  that  caused  old  Mr.  Morrow 
to  cast  many  an  amused  glance  at  them  over  his  spectacles, 
and  brought  a  smile — the  first  smile  for  many  months — to 
Ethel's  face. 


172  THE  POMFKET  MYSTEKY. 

"  They  are  real  nice  people,"  said  Aunt  Martha,  as,  having 
seen  Ethel  into  bed,  she  kissed  her  good  night  and  prepared 
to  go  into  her  own  adjoining  room;  "  nice  good  people.  Now 
shut  your  eyes,  dearie/'  she  added,  going  softly  out  and 
noiselessly  closing  the  door  after  her. 

The  fresh,  strange  air  of  the  hills  brought  a  sound,  peace- 
ful sleep  to  Ethel,  and  not  even  a  dream  disturbed  her  slum- 
bers. She  did  not  awake  until  the  sun  was  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  Aunt  Martha  had  been  up  and  dressed  long 
enough  to  have  gone  all  over  the  barns,  and  through  the 
kitchen,  pantry  and  milk  room. 

"  Wan'  ter  know,"  exclaimed  that  latter  personage,  as  she 
looked  into  the  bedroom  and  saw  that  Ethel's  eyes  were 
open.  "  It's  the  first  real  good  sleep  you've  had  for  a  long 
time.  But  you'll  get  well  here,  that's  certain.  Why,  I 
feel  better,  myself,"  and  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word 
by  throwing  back  her  shoulders,  and  drawing  a  long,  deep 
breath  into  her  capacioiis  lungs. 

For  those  suffering  from  troubles  of  the  heart  and  mind, 
both  rest,  occupation  and  change  are  necessary,  but  it  is 
hard  to  find  all  of  them  together.  But  at  the  red  farmhouse 
they  were  all  combined.  There  was  the  cave  to  visit,  its 
many  natural  wonders  to  see,  and  its  long,  dark  passages  to 
explore.  There  were  beautiful  drives  among  the  hills  and 
through  the  valleys.  There  was  perpetual  amusement  in 
the  study  of  the  negro  character;  and  the  nights  brought 
long,  refreshing  sleep. 

Ethel  was  much  interested  in  old  Grim,  and  he  became  a 
devoted  slave  to  her.  Indeed,  she  was  a  favorite  with  all 
in  the  house,  and  they  grew  to  like  her  better  and  better  as 
the  days  passed  by. 

But  Grim  became  her  especial  servitor.  As  she  became 
stronger,  he  would  take  her  through  the  winding  passages 
of  his  beloved  cave,  and  unmurmuringly  load  himself  down 


THE   RED   FARM-HOUSE.  173 

with,  the  specimens  of  moss  and  fragments  of  stalactites  and 
stalagmites  which  she  picked  up  or  broke  off  from  larger 
masses.  He  would  climb  down  into  rocky  ravines  to  gather 
wild  flowers  if  she  but  chanced  to  admire  their  beauty.  His 
own  offerings  were  the  simple  gifts  which  nature  laid  within 
his  reach;  a  beautiful  butterfly,  a  squirrel  caught  and  tamed 
by  him,  a  collection  of  birds'  eggs;  these,  and  such  as  these, 
the  faithful  negro  laid  at  his  young  mistress'  feet.  There 
was  something  in  his  fidelity  like  the  friendship  of  a  grave, 
great  mastiff. 

The  old  couple  felt  enlivened  by  the  presence  of  new 
people,  and  as  for  Aunt  Martha,  she  had  her  hands  full 
learning  from  and  teaching  Kezia. 

Though  there  were  shady  nooks  beneath  the  trees,  cool 
gorges  through  which  mountain  streams  ran,  and  easy  chairs 
on  the  piazza  of  the  farmhouse,  Ethel  preferred  to  sit  in  the 
darkness  and  silence  of  the  cave.  There,  in  the  passageway 
near  the  opening,  where  the  light  was  a  dim  twilight  and 
no  sound  save  the  rustle  and  whirr  of  an  owl  or  bat  disturbed 
the  dead  quiet,  she  would  sit  and  think  for  hours.  The 
dim,  gray  light  of  the  place  where  she  sat,  the  black  dark- 
ness beyond,  and  the  night  birds  flitting  to  and  fro  were  all 
in  harmony  with  her  own  mental  condition.  So  she  had  a 
fondness  for  the  dim,  shadowy,  dismal  cave,  and  spent  long 
hours  of  reverie  there — sad  and  bitter  reverie. 

There  were  passages  through  her  heart  which  once  had 
been  filled  with  the  golden  currents  of  love,  but  the  fires  of 
despair  burnt  them  out  and  filled  the  void  witli  the  thick 
black  darkness  of  misery.  And  there  was  a  sympathy  in 
the  hollow  passages  of  the  cave;  no  flowers  blossomed  in 
its  darkness;  no  hopes,  no  loves,  bloomed  in  her  heart. 
The  wild  flowers  that  she  plucked  outside  and  carried  with 
her  into  the  cavern  grew  limp  and  lifeless,  and  thus,  too,  had 
the  joys  faded  and  died  under  the  black  shadow  that  rested 


THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 


upon  her  life.  The  bats  and  the  owls  were  fit  companions 
for  her  own  dark  thoughts;  and  as  for  the  silence — was  not 
her  own  heart  stunned  ? 


CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

DYING. 

ETHEL  was  sitting  thus,  one  day,  upon  the  rude  stone 
seat  within  the  cave,  waiting  for  Grim,  who  had  promised 
to  show  her  a  chamber  where  the  trickling  lime-water  had 
coagulated  into  great  roses,  pendent  from  the  roof  like  gi- 
gantic flowers  growing  downwards.  But  Grim  came  not, 
though  it  was  long  past  the  appointed  hour,  and  she  was 
weary  of  the  gray  twilight  of  the  cave  and  the  somber 
shadows  of  her  own  thoughts. 

As  she  sat  there  she  saw  the  faint  glimmer  of  a  distant 
light.  It  came  nearer  until  she  saw  that  a  man  held  it,  and 
then  it  turned  aside  into  a  cross  passage.  Thinking  that  it 
was  Grim,  she  rose  and  walked  toward  where  she  had  last 
seen  it. 

She  knew  the  path  well,  there  were  no  pit-falls  in  the  way, 
no  rocks  to  stumble  over,  only  a  straight,  narrow  passage 
with  a  smooth,  hard,  sandy  floor.  She  went  on  fearlessly, 
looking  down  the  side  galleries  to  see  if  she  could  spy  the 
light.  At  last  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  far  down  a  dim, 
narrow  way — only  a  faint,  red  speck  of  fire  in  the  midst  of 
an  ocean  of  blackness. 

She  lit  her  own  torch  and  went  carefully  through  the 
narrow  tunnel.  The  light  grew  larger  and  more  distinct 
as  she  drew  nearer  to  it,  and  she  went  on  toward  it  till  she 
stood  in  a  chamber  of  considerable  magnitude. 

It  was  an  unexplored  part  of  the  cave  to  her — she  had 


DY1KG. 

never  been  there  before — but  now,  in  the  flickering  light  of 
the  torches,  she  saw  that  the  arched  roof  spread  like  a  dome 
overhead  and  was  studded  with  stalactites  of  strange  forms. 
Eough  slabs  and  tapering  spires  of  stalagmite  rose  from  the 
yellow  sand  and  broken  crystals  that  carpeted  the  floor;  and 
half  way  up,  between  floor  and  roof,  the  wall  was  broken 
by  a  broad  terrace  that  ran  around  the  chamber  like  the 
gallery  of  an  amphitheater,  while  stretching  back  from  it 
were  unexplored  and  unknown  passages. 

Within  this  chamber,  upon  a  block  of  broken  stalactite, 
by  the  side  of  a  pit  which  yawned,  an  empty  space  of  dark- 
ness, in  the  floor,  and  from  which  the  sound  of  rushing  water 
came  faintly  thundering  up,  sat  a  man.  His  back  was  to- 
ward her  and  his  head  hung  down  upon  his  breast  as  if  he 
were  deep  in  reverie.  It  was  not  Grim. 

She  made  a  movement  to  depart,  but  the  figure  heard  her 
and  turned.  Turned;  and  held  the  torch  high  over  his 
head  and  faced  her. 

She  gave  one  convulsive  start  and  then  stood  gazing  at 
him  as  if  petrified.  The  red  torchlight  lit  up  the  cavern 
with  a  weird  fairy-like  effect.  The  white  stalactites  flashed 
back  a  thousand  different  colors,  while  the  broken  crystals 
in  the  sand  glittered  like  jewels  in  a  golden  setting,  and  the 
smoke  of  the  torches  rolling  upward  through  the  still  air 
seemed  twisted  columns  of  dull  stone  supporting  the  arched 
roof. 

They  stood  confronting  each  other  in  profound  silence, 
each  gazing  as  if  half-conscious  of  the  other's  presence.  He 
was  pale  and  haggard.  His  eyes  were  sunken  but  unnatur- 
ally bright.  His  right  arm  was  carried  in  a  sling  and  his 
mouth  was  contracted  with  pain.  She  stood  there,  with 
glaring  eyes,  like  some  wild  creature  suddenly  astounded, 
pale  and  gasping  for  breath;  but  her  brows  were  lowering, 
gloomy  and  terrible. 


176  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

And  between  them  yawned  the  black  pit,  !rom  which 
came  the  sound  of  rushing  waters  rising  like  a  wall;  an  im- 
passable barrier  of  separation. 

Suddenly  he  broke  the  silence.  "Ethel!"  he  said.  It 
was  but  one  word,  but  in  it  what  a  world  of  pent-up  agony, 
of  bitter  self-reproach,  of  dark,  terrible  hopelessness. 

"  Ethel ! "  The  name  came  echoing  back  from  the  arched 
roof,  and  the  black  galleries  caught  it  up  and  seemed  to 
send  it,  in  dying  echoes,  through  their  dark  lengths  down 
to  the  center  of  the  world. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"What  fire  is  in  mine  eyes,"  he  murmured,  "that  the 
specter  of  Ethel  Leslie  rises  to  haunt  me,  here  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth?" 

"Arthur!" 

She  could  hardly  believe  that  she  spoke — the  voice 
seemed  so  strange  and  unnatural,  nor  was  she  conscious  of 
having  made  any  exertion  to  speak. 

Her  heart  had  been  frozen,  but  at  that  word  it  seemed 
to  burst  its  bonds,  to  become  a  volcano — a  seething  gulf  of 
fiery  passion.  She  flung  her  hand  up  to  heaven  with  a 
gesture  of  wild,  passionate  despair. 

"  You  here  ?  "  she  cried.  "  You  dare  to  stand  before  me. 
You,  wretch  that  you  are — you — villain,  who  stole  my  hap- 
piness— devil,  who  played  false  with  my  heart  and  soul — 
who  used  me  for  your  own  foul  purpose — you  dare  to  live 
and  to  speak  to  me  and  call  me  Ethel ! " 

A  low  moaning  cry  echoed  through  the  cavern  and  he  fell 
upon  his  knees. 

"See,  I  kneel  to  you,"  he  cried.  "Forgive  me!  Oh 
forgive  me ! " 

"  Forgive  you! "  Only  two  words — but  oh  the  volume  of 
scorn  that  was  in  the  voice  that  uttered  them. 

"  Let  me  confess  to  you,"  he  moaned.     "  I  have  robbed 


and  betrayed  you.  I  have  sinned — God  knows  how  greatly. 
But,  oh!  believe  me,  there  was  a  long,  hard  struggle  first. 
I  tried  to  tread  the  right  and  narrow  path,  but  old  associa- 
tions were  too  strong  for  me.  I  struggled  to  resist  tempta- 
tions; and  when  I  fell,  I  fell  with  agony.  For  I  loved  you! " 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  stony,  pitiless  face. 

"  I  loved  you,"  he  cried  to  her.  "  I  swear  by  all  the 
truth  on  earth,  by  the  great  God  in  heaven,  I  loved  you! " 

The  cold,  unimpassioned,  stony  look  never  left  her  face. 

Then  grovelling  before  her  he  told  her  the  history  of  his 
life. 

"  Hear  me! "  he  cried  again  to  her.  "  My  very  hours  of 
life  are  numbered.  Let  me  not  die  till  I  have  told  you  all. 
I  was  born  and,  as  a  boy,  lived  near  here — in  the  red  farm- 
house by  the  roadside.  I  was  an  only  child — humored  and 
petted  by  all.  From  my  earliest  days  I  was  restless — the 
quiet,  uneventful  life  at  home  was  even  then  distasteful  to 
me,  and  I  hailed  the  earliest  opportunity  to  get  away — and 
above  all  things,  and  at  any  price,  I  wished  for  wealth. 

"You  know  not  how  I  fell,  but  oh!  believe  that  it  was 
not  until  poverty  threatened  to  deny  me  many  luxuries  that 
were  necessary  to  my  life.  But  the  fortunes  which  I  gained, 
large  as  they  were,  were  still  too  small  for  me — I  wanted 
more — more.  I  came  to  Pomfret  determined  to  rob  the 
bank.  There  I  met  you — and  loved  you.  By  your  side  I 
seemed  to  realize  how  vile  and  worthless  I  was.  Your  voice 
and  glance  seemed  ever  to  bid  me  lead  a  new  life.  And  I 
was  a  different  man  when  I  married  you — the  old  spirit  ivas 
dead  and  a  new  spirit  was  in  its  place.  Yes,  the  old  life 
was  dead  within  me,  and  if  I  thought  of  it  at  all  it  was  with 
a  shudder  of  rejoicing  at  my  escape  from  it. 

'  Yet  the  old  unrest  came  gradually  back  to  me — the 
quiet,  safe  life  we  led  palled  upon  me — and  I  fell.  But, 
oh!  the  torture  of  my  soul,  the  agony  of  my  heart,  was 


178  THE    POMFRET  ifYSTERY. 

fearful  when  I  was  compelled,  beyond  all  power  of  my  will, 
to  be  evil  once  again. 

"  Wounded  unto  death  by  the  detectives — as  some  wild, 
wounded  animal  seeks  its  lair  to  die,  I  sought  this  cave 
from  whose  mouth  I  might  once  more  gaze  upon  my  child- 
hood's home,  and  catch  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  figures  of 
those  who  loved  me  when  I  was  young,  and  here,  unknown 
and  unseen,  die." 

She  shuddered  as  if  some  noxious  reptile  had  crawled  be- 
fore her. 

"Believe,  at  least/'  he  cried — "believe,  at  least,  I  loved 
you!" 

He  ceased  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  where  he 
knelt  at  her  feet — he  did  not  dare  to  look  at  her.  Her 
breath  came  and  went  in  shuddering  gasps. 

"Mercy!"  he  prayed,  stretching  his  arms  out  to  her. 
"  Mercy !" 

"  Too  late!  Too  late!"  she  answered,  hoarsely. 

"  Mercy!  Mercy! "  he  still  imploringly  cried.  "  Let  my 
love  plead  for  my  forgiveness  and  for  mercy!" 

"  Your  love! "  she  said.  "  Your  love!  Foul,  devilish  thing 
that  it  was,  pleads  not  for  mercy,  but  for  vengeance — and 
its  prayer  shall  be  heard." 

"  By  the  love  which  you  once  bore  for  me — by  the  mem- 
ory of  the  happy  days  we  once  spent  together — have  mercy ! " 

She  laughed  a  shrill  laugh,  like  the  laugh  of  a  fiend,  and 
ere  it  had  died  away  and  ceased  to  reverberate  through  the 
arched  roof  and  long  passage  ways,  he  heard  these  words, 
clear  and  distinct  as  from  a  bell: 

"As  you  had  mercy,  so  shall  I  have  mercy! " 

"Mercy!  Mercy!"  bemoaned. 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  by  the  light 
of  her  uplifted  torch  he  could  see  the  cold  scorn  of  her  eyes 
as  she  answered: 


DYlKCt.  179 

"Too  late!  Too  late!" 

He  shook  as  with  an  ague.  He  fell  upon  his  face  upon  the 
sand  before  her,  and  the  torch  dropped  from  his  hand  and 
fell  naming  down  the  chasm,  showing  the  jagged  rocks  that 
lined  its  sides. 

She  stood  gazing  at  him  for  a  moment  with  scorn  and 
hate  in  her  eyes,  and  when  he  raised  his  head  again  she  had 
left  him.  He  saw  the  red  light  of  the  receding  torch  glit- 
ter upon  the  crystals  along  her  path  that  flashed  back  light- 
ning gleams  of  rainbow-colored  light  from  floor  and  wall 
and  roof — saw  it  grow  less  and  less  until  but  a  tiny  spark 
glimmered  in  the  distance,  and  then  that,  too,  disappeared, 
and  the  thick  darkness  and  solemn  silence  closed  in  around 
him  like  a  pall. 

She  walked  out  into  the  clear  daylight.  Within  her  hand 
was  the  extinguished  torch  and  in  her  heart  was  a  cold, 
remorseless  hate. 

The  bleak  and  terrible  loneliness  with  which  this  man  had 
surrounded  himself  descended  again  upon  him,  as  darkness 
comes  upon  the  earth,  but  the  shadow  on  his  soul  had  no 
resemblance  to  the  shades  of  evening,  broken  as  they  are  by 
the  flickering  light  of  kindly  stars  or  the  rays  of  the  pallid 
moon.  The  blackness  of  the  cave  was  a  fitter  emblem  for 
the  gloom  of  his  inner  nature. 

Alone  he  lay;  friendless,  weary,  dying,  forsaken.  There 
was  no  memory  of  good  done  to  his  fellow-man,  no  memory 
of  high  accomplishment  or  kindly  deed,  to  shed  a  ray  of 
hope  through  his  soul. 

Yet  in  those  last  moments  of  his  life  his  mind  turned  to 
a  deep  review  of  the  gradual  and  marvelous  change  which  he 
had  wrought  upon  himself  by  the  life  which  he  had  led. 

He  remembered  how  the  bright  stars  had  smiled  upon  him 
in  his  youth;  how  the  woods  and  streams  had  whispered  to 
his  boyish  heart  tales  and  expectations  of  honor  and  glory; 


180  THE  POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

how  in  the  years  gone  by,  he  had  left  his  home,  a  simple 
and  loving  child,  and  planted  his  firm  and  eager  footsteps  on 
the  threshold  of  the  world.  He  remembered  how  fresh  and 
tender  his  heart  had  been  when  first  he  set  out — how  full 
of  love  and  sympathy  for  mankind — how  responsive  and 
pitying  for  human  guilt  and  sorrow — how  earnest  in  his 
hope  that  men  would  learn  to  honor  and  reverence  him. 

And  now — what  was  the  end?  Solitude  like  that  of  the 
grave — a  dying  man  left  to  die  unwatched  and  uncared 
for — a  path  through  life  marked  by  crimes  and  foul  with 
the  misery  that  he  had  caused. 

As  the  moments  of  his  life  ebbed  slowly  one  by  one  away, 
so  pictures  like  these  passed  on  before  him.  He  started  up, 
and  the  dark  cavern  seemed  alive  with  demons,  grinning 
and  mocking  him — ready  and  waiting  to  bear  his  soul  to 
perdition.  To  his  failing  senses  the  earth  shook  with  their 
tread — the  caverns  echoed  with  their  laughter — his  ears 
were  stunned  with  their  cries. 

He  reeled  and  fell;  and  up  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth 
his  soul  took  its  flight  to  answer,  at  the  judgment  seat  of 
God,  for  a  mis-spent  life. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HOME   AGAIN". 

IT  was  an  astonishing  thing  that,  when  Ethel  came  from  the 
cave  and  walked  back  to  the  little  red  cottage,  she  felt  cold 
and  calm  as  ice.  The  warmer  passions  of  her  nature  seemed 
to  be  burned  out,  love  could  not  be  bruised  and  bleeding, 
for  it  was  dead.  Death  and  crime  were  no  longer  dreadful. 
Only  the  colder  passions  of  hate,  distrust  and  unbelief  in 
nobleness  and  faith  remained. 


HOME  AGArST.  181 

As  she  entered  the  cottage  she  saw  old  Mrs.  Morrow  sit- 
ting by  the  fireside.  She  had  no  pity  for  the  childless 
woman,  naught  but  a  strong  antipathy  to  her  as  the  mother 
of  one  whom  she  hated  and  spurned.  The  very  apathy  of 
all  that  was  good  and  true  in  her  nature  was  of  itself  a  dis- 
ease— moral  if  not  physical,  which,  though  it  made  no  out- 
ward sign  of  its  fell  presence,  yet  nevertheless  dwelt  in  her 
heart. 

She  walked  with  firm  footsteps  up  the  stairs  and  entered 
the  room  where  Aunt  Martha  was. 

"Aunt  Martha,"  she  said,  "  we  must  leave  here  to-mor- 
row." 

"To-morrow?" 

"Yes." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  what  put  that  notion  into  your  head?" 

"  I  cannot  stay  here  longer.  Everything,  everybody,  is 
distasteful,  hateful  to  me." 

"  Du  tell,  why  only  this  morning  you  were  perfectly  satis- 
fied, and  you  were  getting  so  well  here." 

"  I  am  well  now." 

"  I  want  to  know.     "Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?' 

11  Home." 

"  Why,  Ethel !  you  know  that's  the  very  worst  place  for 
you.  Pomfret  will  bring  up  old  scenes  and  old  thoughts 
which  it  were  better  for  you  to  forget." 

"  I  can  never  forget  them.  But  they  will  not  make  me 
ill  again — never  more  can  I  suffer  as  once  I  did." 

"  If  I  could  only  be  sure  of  that." 

"  I  have  put  the  past  away  from  me.  I  have  buried  it 
to-day.  Yonder  vast  cave  is  its  tomb.  Believe  me,  it  will 
never  rise  again." 

"  But  what  excuse  shall  I  give?" 

"  I  care  not.     But  to-morrow  I  leave  here," 

"Ethel,  you  are  ill  again," 


182  THE  POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

"  Feel  my  pulse,  Aunt  Martha.  Does  it  beat  quicker 
than  is  its  wont.  Look  at  my  hand  as  I  hold  it  out,  does  it 
tremble  in  the  least.  No,  Aunt  Martha,  I  am  not  ill.  I 
am  well." 

"  But  this  sudden  change  of  plan — and  you  give  no  rea- 
son— T  do  not  understand  it  at  all." 

"  Listen,  then,  and  let  me  tell  you.  To-day  I  met  him — I 
will  not  soil  my  lips  with  his  name." 

"  You  !    You  met  your  husband! " 

"  He  never  was  my  husband.  The  name  he  bore  when 
he  married  me  was  not  his  own.  Even  it  was  stolen." 

"Not  his  name?" 

"  This  was  his  home.  These  people  are  his  parents — 
these  negroes  his  slaves." 

"Sakes  alive!" 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  will  stay  longer  under  this  roof? 
No  !  Were  it  not  so  late  we  would  leave  this  very  night. 
As  it  is,  we  must  depart  early  to-morrow." 

"Will  you  tell  them?" 

"  No,  let  them  remain  in  their  trust  in  him.  Let  them 
remember  him  as  true  and  honest.  Better  their  doubt  than 
their  despair.  Let  there  be  at  least  two  people  in  the  world 
whose  lives  are  not  blighted  with  his  crimes." 

"  Will  you  not  come  down  to  supper?" 

"  No.  Such  things  as  you  may  cook  with  your  own  hands 
I  will  eat,  but  never  more  will  I  break  bread  nor  sit  at  the 
table  with  his  parents.  Pay  our  bills,  let  us  be  beholden  to 
them  for  nothing,  and  to-morrow  early  let  us  go  away." 

There  was  nothing  for  Aunt  Martha  to  do  but  to  make 
the  best  excuses  she  could,  and  arrange  for  their  departure 
on  the  following  day.  She  did  not  understand  all  the  rea- 
sons why  Ethel  was  determined  to  go  home,  but  she  knew 
enough  to  convince  her  that  it  was  better  to  yield  than  to 
resist. 


HOME    AGAIX.  183 

So  on  the  morrow  they  journeyed  towards  Pomf  ret. 

Aunt  Martha  had  telegraphed  ahead  of  their  coming,  and 
both  the  Squire  and  the  old  doctor  met  them  at  the  station. 
They  had  feared  that  her  old  illness  had  returned  to  Ethel, 
but  when  she  stepped  from  the  train  and  greeted  them, 
they  knew  that  their  fears  were  false. 

In  Pomfret  many  things  were  changed.  The  detectives, 
returning  baffled  from  their  chase  of  Arthur  Vance,  had 
gathered  up  the  bonds  strewn  about,  and  searching  beneath 
the  trap-door,  found  in  the  pit  the  bonds  Avhich  the  Jew  had 
dropped  and  had  not  waited  to  carry  off.  He  himself  had 
escaped  by  outlets  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit.  Thus  the 
Pomfret  Bank  found  itself  again  repossessed  of  most  of  its 
property,  and  what  remained  unaccounted  for  and  unre- 
turned  was  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  money  which 
Vance  had  paid  to  relieve  the  Squire  of  his  responsibilities. 

Thus  Ethel  came  back  to  her  home  still  an  heiress  to  her 
father's  wealth,  and  the  old  Squire  once  more  held  his  ac- 
customed place  as  the  richest  and  most  prominent  man  in 
the  town. 

But  there  was  the  home  in  "Woodside  where,  though 
thanksgiving  and  gladness  reigned,  there  was  yet  a  shadow 
of  the  great  wrong  done  Benny  Moore.  The  terrible  time 
when  Benny  had  been  accused  of  the  robbery,  the  suspense 
of  his  trial  and  subsequent  legal  proceedings  had  been  a 
heavy  burden  for  his  parents  to  bear. 

And  when  at  last  he  was  a  free  man  once  again,  his  inno- 
cence established  and  his  good  name  restored  to  him,  the 
two  old  people  felt  as  though  they  could  never  part  with 
him. 

But  Benny  did  not  wish  to  stay  where  there  were  so 
many  scenes  constantly  reminding  him  of  the  blackest 
hours  of  his  life,  and  so  he  hurried  back  to  New  York. 
The  farm  was  very  lonely  after  he  had  left;  it  was  hard  tp 


184  THE    POMFKET   MYSTERY. 

go  back  to  the  humdrum  affairs  of  every-day  life.  Duties 
that  had  been  pleasant  before  became  irksome  now  to 
Benny's  mother,  and  she  was  fast  becoming  an  invalid. 
Then  Mr.  Moore's  burden  became  still  heavier. 

When,  a  few  days  after  her  return,  the  old  Squire  drove 
Ethel  out  to  Woodside,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  here  was  the 
only  place  where  she  could  visit.  Here  the  great  crime, 
with  which  she  felt  so  intimately  connected,  had  stretched 
its  shadow  and  left  its  blight  behind.  The  sad,  broken 
condition  of  Mrs.  Moore  touched  and  aroused  her  pity. 
They  both  had  suffered  together,  and  were  bound  by  the 
recollection  as  by  a  tie  that  could  not  be  broken.  When 
she  remembered  the  happy  home,  now  broken  up,  of  Benny, 
aged  with  the  horror  of  the  imputations  so  maliciously,  so 
cruelly  put  upon  him,  she  sometimes  thought  that,  even 
though  her  husband  was  dead,  she  could  curse  the  very 
memory  of  his  vileness.  The  robbery  of  the  bank  was 
slighb  in  comparison  to  the  crime  of  imputing  to  a  man 
whom  he  knew  was  innocent,  an  offense  so  horrible. 

Fortunately  for  Ethel,  she  could  not  brood  upon  such 
thoughts  for  many  days.  The  growing  weakness  of  Mrs. 
Moore  claimed  more  and  more  of  her  attention.  She  con- 
stituted herself  her  nurse,  and  lived  at  the  farm  house. 
She  felt  as  if,  by  thus  easing  the  last  moments  of  her  old 
friends'  life,  she  was  in  some  way  atoning  for  the  great 
wrong  that  her  husband  had  done  to  them;  but  had  she 
been  able  to  look  into  her  own  soul  she  would  have  seen 
how  much  good  it  was  doing  her  thus  to  devote  her  own  life 
to  another. 

Between  the  woman  dying  and  the  woman  whose  heart 
was  dead  there  grew  up  a  solemn  and  sacred  intercourse, 
and  the  elder  one  taught  and  the  younger  one  learnt  lessons 
of  faith  and  patience.  And  at  last,  one  night,  just  before 
the  spirit  took  its  flight  from  the  frail  tenement  of  clay 


RESTLESSNESS.  185 

•where  it  had  for  many  years  made  its  home,  the  elder 
woman  begged  a  last  favor  from  the  younger;  and  Ethel 
kneeling  by  the  bedside  breathed  out  a  prayer  for  forgive- 
ness for  her  hardness  of  heart  and  a  petition  for  pardon  for 
the  crimes  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

RESTLESSNESS. 

THERE  is  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  no  man,  woman  or 
child  who  can  retire  from  the  world  and  nurse  their  grief 
in  solitude  without  neglecting  some  duty  which  ought  to  be 
performed.  Nor  could  Ethel,  much  as  she  wished  to  do 
so,  retire  from  the  world  and  brood  over  her  own  troubles. 
The  money  which  her  husband  had  left  was  hateful  to  her. 
He,  as  has  been  said,  purchased  all  the  Squire's  property 
when  the  Squire  had  relinquished  it  for  the  bank's  benefit, 
and  all  the  money  which  he  had  then  paid  was  now  in  the 
bank.  This  money,  less  the  amount  of  the  securities  which 
were  not  recovered,  was  to  be  returned  to  him  or  to  Ethel 
as  his  wife. 

But  if  the  confession  which  he  had  made  to  her  was 
true,  this  money  belonged  to  the  heirs  of  the  true  Arthur 
Vance.  She  would  not  touch  a  penny  of  it — it  was  blood 
money — it  had  brought  a  curse  with  it. 

Here,  then,  was  the  object  which  she  had  to  live  for — to 
find  his  heirs  and  restore  them  this  fortune.  She  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  dead  man  to  guide  her  beyond  what  her 
husband  had  told  her,  and  she  knew  not  whether  this  was 
true  or  false.  He  had  not  been  accustomed  to  speak  much 
about  former  times,  but  racking  her  brains  she  remembered 
that  from  time  to  time  she  had  heard  him  say  that  his 


186  THE    POMFEET   MYSTERY. 

(and  she  believed  now  that  he  had  meant  the  father  of 
Arthur  Vance)  had  lived  in  Louisiana — somewhere  near 
New  Orleans,  and  had  been  killed  in  Mexico.  Slight  clues 
were  these  to  depend  upon,  and  they  were  rendered  more 
slight  by  the  fact  that  she  knew  not  whether  they  were  true 
or  not.  She  was  perplexed,  also,  to  know  how  to  proceed 
to  test  their  verity  and  follow  them  out.  She  foresaw  that 
her  researches  would  necessitate  a  vast  amount  of  travel, 
and  she  shrank  from  contact  with  strangers.  Her  first  im- 
pulse was  to  send  for  detectives  and  employ  them,  but  she 
was  adverse  to  exposing  her  husband's  wickedness  and  her 
own  shame  to  them. 

Many  weeks  passed  while  she  debated  these  things  in  her 
mind.  They  grew  slowly  and  took  shape  as  she  watched  by 
the  bedside  of  Mrs.  Moore;  the  long  quiet  hours  of  the 
night  while  the  sick  woman  slumbered  were  favorable  to 
deep  thought.  Gradually  her  resolutions  took  shape  and 
form,and  she  determined  to  unravel  the  knotty  skein  herself. 

First  of  all,  a  visit  to  New  Orleans  was  necessary,  that  she 
there  might  search  out  the  history  of  the  Vances  and  learn 
who  their  family  connections  had  been.  In  pursuance  of 
this  plan  she  journeyed  to  the  South.  Her  father  and  Aunt 
Martha  had  been  greatly  surprised  when  she  broached  her 
i  utentions  to  them,  and  their  first  impulse  was  to  oppose  it, 
but  old  Doctor  Gamble  had  come  to  her  assistance,  saying 
that  the  change  would  do  her  good,  and  that  the  variety  of 
the  scenes  which  she  would  pass  through  would  distract  her 
mind  from  the  contemplation  of  its  own  sorrows 

Therefore  she  was  allowed  to  depart  without  other  hin- 
derances  than  the  tears  which  the  two  old  people  shed  when 
she  left  them. 

Detective  work  is  slow  and  tedious;  it  is  like  groping  in 
the  dai'k  after  one  knows  not  what.  Inch  by  inch  the 
^searcher  creeps  forward,  turning  now  to  the  one  side,  then 


KESTLESSXESS.  187 

to  the  other,  often  finding  oneself  back  at  the  same  point 
from  which  one  started  and  being  forced  to  start  out  again 
in  a  new  direction.  Small  trifles  govern  the  direction  of 
one's  wanderings,  and  obstacles  are  tediously  surmounted 
for  no  purpose.  Great  perseverance  is  required  or  one  be- 
comes discouraged  by  repeated  failures.  But  Ethel  had  all 
the  necessary  qualifications  of  untiring  perseverance  and  in- 
domitable will.  Failure  stimulated  her  to  renewed  effort. 
She  clung  to  her  occupation  with  the  tenacity  of  fear,  dread- 
ing to  let  it  slip  from  her  lest  her  life  should  become  again 
swallowed  up  in  the  dark  waves  of  despair.  She  fought 
with  the  difficulties  in  her  path,  obstinately  and  continu- 
ously, lest  thoughts  of  her  own  sorrow  should  come  to  her 
and  overmaster  her. 

In  New  Orleans  it  was  hard  to  find  records  of  the  Vances. 
They  belonged  to  a  former  era,  which  the  war  had  driven 
out  of  the  memory  of  most  dwellers  in  the  Crescent  City, 
and  records  of  births  or  deaths  or  marriages  had  not  been 
carefully  kept  in  the  olden  time,  or  had  been  lost  in  the  ex- 
citing years  of  civil  conflict. 

Still  Ethel  pursued  her  enquiries  of  every  one  who  she 
thought  would  be  likely  to  give  her  information,  until  all 
sources  of  information  were  exhausted.  Then  it  occurred 
to  her  that  among  the  negro  population  there  must  be  some 
old  men  or  old  women  who  had  lived  with  the  Vances  in 
olden  times  and  could  tell  her  such  family  traditions  as 
they  remembered,  but  to  search  them  out  was  a  tedious  task, 
and  months  were  consumed  in  the  operation.  But  the 
proverb  says  that  "  all  things  come  to  him  who  waits,"  and 
so  it  proved  to  her.  She  found  at  last  an  old  negress  who 
had  been  the  maid  of  that  elderly  lady  who  has  been  men- 
tioned as  Aunt  Matilda.  Her,  Ethel  examined  and  cross 
examined  until  she  knew  all  that  the  old  woman  had  to  tell. 
She  learned  the  story  of  Sunbeam  and  Felice,  learned  how 


188  THE    POMFRET    MYSTEKY. 

Laurence  Vance  had  lost  his  life,  learned  how  his  daughter 
had  been  stolen  and  how  his  wife  had  died.  Learned,  too, 
of  the  rumor  that  somehow  prevailed  among  the  negroes 
that  Sunbeam  had  stolen  the  child  to  be  revenged  upon 
his  former  master. 

And  this  daughter  was  the  owner  of  those  thousands  that 
stood  in  the  Pomfret  Bank  awaiting  her  coming — this 
daughter,  who  knew  not  her  own  parentage  and  whose 
identity  was  hidden  among  the  millions  of  human  beings 
upon  the  earth,  was  to  be  sought  out,  identified  and  en- 
riched. Hopeless  as  the  task  seemed,  Ethel  gave  her  whole 
energies  to  it. 

Somehow  she  could  not  think  of  this  child  as  dead — some 
intuition  in  her  heart  told  her  that  the  child  still  lived. 
But  how  should  she  discover  her  ? 

In  vain  she  put  advertisements  in  all  the  Mexican  papers 
asking  for  news  of  Sunbeam  or  Felice — no  information  came 
to  her.  Equally  vain  were  her  attempts  to  locate  the  place 
where  the  hacienda  San  Bene  had  been.  The  details  she 
could  obtain  from  the  aged  negress  were  all  too  meager  to 
locate  it,  and  its  whereabouts  eluded  her  most  careful  search. 

The  mystery  was  too  deep  for  her,  and  she  was  forced  to 
acknowledge  herself  baffled  for  the  time  being,  and  she  re- 
turned to  Pomfret. 

But  the  many  memories  connected  with  her  home  made 
her  life  there  sad,  and  she  began  to  grow  morose  and  melan- 
choly and  to  long  for  a  change.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
delight  that  she  heard  that  friends  in  Boston  were  about  to 
go  abroad  and  wished  her  to  go  with  them.  She  gladly  ac- 
cepted their  invitation,  and  bidding  farewell  once  more  to 
her  father  and  Aunt  Martha,  embarked  for  a  foreign  trip. 

But  Benny  Moore  had  heard  of  her  determination  with 
sorrow.  His  love  for  her  had  never  died  out,  and  so,  before 
fihe  sailed,  he  told  her  the  old,  old  taje  which  so  many  lov- 


AUNT  MARTHA'S  ROMANCE.  189 

ing  hearts  have  heard  with  sobs  and  sighs,  and  quick 
tumultuous  pulsations  of  the  blood. 

"  Alas,  Benny,"  she  answered,  "  it  cannot  be.  I  can  never 
again  love  as  a  wife  should.  My  heart  is  dead  and  cold. 
Forget  me — think  of  me  as  a  sister — for  I  never  again  can 
be  a  wife.  Be  my  brother,  Benny,  and  learn  to  be  happy 
with  some  one  else." 

"  It  is  idle  to  bid  me  do  that,"  Benny  answered,  "  I  can 
love  only  you." 

1 '  You  can  learn  to  love  some  one  else  if  you  will  but  try 
hard,"  she  answered.  "When  I  return  from  abroad  we 
will  be  as  brother  and  sister,  but  nothing  more." 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

MARTHA'S  ROMANCE. 

AFTER  Ethel  had  departed  for  Europe,  leaving  her  father 
and  Aunt  Martha  at  Pomfret,  the  old  Squire  began  to  ex- 
hibit a  restlessness.  Perhaps  Ethel's  moods  had  been  con- 
tagious; perhaps  it  was  only  that  the  stirring  events  of  the 
past  years  had  roused  him  and  stirred  his  energies,  which 
had  been  stagnating  in  the  quite  country  town. 

Whatever  the  cause  may  have  been,  Ethel  was  no  sooner 
launched  on  the  high  seas  that  the  old  man  announced  his 
intention  of  visiting  the  West.  Aunt  Martha  offered  to 
accompany  him,  but  the  Squire  preferred  to  go  alone.  So 
the  spinster  was  left  in  the  Squire's  house. 

There  had  been  a  romance  in  Aunt  Martha's  life — a 
romance  that  had  kept  her  unwedded  all  the  intervening 
years.  Fate,  which  had  been  of  late  so  busy  with  the 
members  of  the  Leslie  family,  was  now  to  complete  its  in- 
terference, by  changing  the  current  of  Miss  Martha's  life. 


190  tllE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

Miss  Martha  was  not  an  idle  woman.  All  the  time  that 
was  not  devoted  to  her  house  and  farm  was  given  to  works 
of  charity  among  her  less  fortunate  neighbors,  who  lived 
upon  the  barren  hillsides,  at  the  outskirts  of  Pomfret,  where 
the  soil  was  so  poor  that  it  was  worthless  for  agricultural 
purposes. 

These  people  were  mostly  French  Canadians,  who  had 
come  to  Pomfret  as  farm  hands,  or  drifted  thither  from  the 
neighboring  manufacturing  towns.  They  were  the  poor,  of 
which,  alas,  every  place  has  its  share,  for  though  Christianity 
has  been  successful  in  many  things,  it  has  not  yet  succeeded 
in  banishing  poverty  from  the  world. 

These  people  had  settled  on  the  hillsides  because  the  land 
there  being  poor  was  cheap,  and  wisely  refraining  from 
attempting  to  cultivate  the  ground  about  their  dwellings, 
earned  a  living  as  "  help  "  to  their  richer  neighbors.  Among 
them  was  the  arena  of  Miss  Martha's  Christian  struggles 
and  charities.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  she  did  not  visit 
them  on  some  errand  of  kindness.  She  seldom  gave 
money — and  when  she  did  it  was  under  the  pledge  of 
secresy — but  in  many  other  ways  she  made  herself  useful 
and  earned  the  gratitude  of  the  people. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  one  of  these  charitable  excursions, 
some  six  weeks  before  the  Christmas  eve  of  the  year  when 
the  departure  of  the  Squire  and  Ethel  had  left  the  worthy 
spinster  alone,  that  Miss  Martha  heard  the  children  of  the 
French  Canadian  Kaoul  Lacrassin  talking  about  "  the 
witch." 

"  The  witch  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  witch  are  you 
talking  about?  There  are  no  witches  nowadays." 

"It's  some  story  they've  picked  up  at  school,  ma'am," 
said  their  mother,  who  was  standing  by.  "Is  it  not  so, 
Emile  ?  "  she  continued,  addressing  her  son. 

"  Years  ago  there  were  witches  in  New  England,"  said 


MARTHA'S  ROMANCE.  191 

Miss  Martha,  who  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  of  impart- 
ing historical  information  to  the  poor  foreigners  among 
whom  her  patronage  was  distributed.  "Years  ago  there 
were  witches,  and  they  did  much  evil;  but  our  pious  ances- 
tors drove  them  out,  with  fire  and  scourging,  and  they  have 
never  come  back." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  I  have  heard  tell  of  them/'  ejaculated 
the  Frenchwoman,  "  they  were  cruelle!" 

Miss  Martha  drew  herself  up  with  an  offended  air,  and 
answered  with  severe  dignity,  "  How  often  have  I  have  re- 
quested you,  Mrs.  Lacrassin,  not  to  take  the  name  of  God 
in  vain  by  your  blasphemous  expression  of  '  Mon  Dieu ' !  I 
would  have  you  remember  that  my  ancestors  were  among 
those  godly  men  whom  you  call  *  cruel,'  and  to  speak  of 
them  with  more  respect  when  I  am  present." 

Much  of  this  reproof  was  lost  upon  the  poor, French- 
woman, who  in  truth  knew  the  English  language  but  im- 
perfectly, but  the  tone  of  voice  and  manner  of  censure  were 
easy  of  comprehension.  She  knew,  moreover,  by  experi- 
ence, that  Miss  Martha  had  an  unfailing  dislike  to  that 
common  French  expression  "  Mon  Dieu;"  and  was  wonder- 
ing what  she  should  say  to  turn  aside  her  benefactress's  in- 
dignation,'when  her  perplexity  was  set  at  rest  by  Emile, 
who  had  imbibed  enough  of  the  Yankee  spirit  to  have  far 
less  respect  than  his  mother  had  for  wealth  and  respecta- 
bility as  represented  in  the  person  of  Miss  Martha. 

"Yes,  there  are  witches!"  he  said.  "Deacon  Sumner 
says  so,  for  I  asked  him.  And  old  Forzin,  who  lives  up 
there,"  pointing  to  the  mountain  side,  "  is  one  of  them." 

"Who?"  queried  Miss  Martha. 

"  He  means  an  old  man  who  has  made  a  hut  for  himself 
and  lives  up  there  among  the  woods,"  his  mother  explained. 
"He  has  been  there  now  about  three  weeks,  and  twice  a 
week  he  has  come  to  buy  bread  of  me." 


192  THE   POMFBET  lIYSTERY. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  his  name  was?" 

"  I  asked  him  for  his  name,  and  he  said  that  he  was 
M'sieur  Forzin."  * 

"French?"  inquired  Miss  Martha. 

"  He  speaks  the  French,  but  not  like  one  natif,"  Mrs.  La- 
crassin  answered. 

"  Where  does  he  work?" 

"  Ah,  he  does  not  work  ! " 

*'  What,  a  beggar — a  tramp  ! "  cried  Miss  MaHha  in  a 
tone  of  disgust. 

"  He  look  like  a  beggar — but  he  pay  me  for  my  bread." 

"  He's  a  witch,"  stoutly  insisted  Emile.  "  He  is  just  like 
the  witch  that  Gran'mere  Annette  used  to  tell  about.  He 
has  a  great  white  beard  and  long  white  hair,  and  his  feet 
are  all  wrapped  about  with  rags.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  he  is  a 
witch ! " 

"  A  suspicious  character,"  said  Miss  Martha,  to  Constable 
Hicky,  who,  since  the  robbery  of  the  bank,  had  been  elected 
to  be  assistant  to  the  worthy  Delaney,  and  whom  she  visited 
on  purpose  to  impart  to  him  the  news  which  she  had  heard. 
'  'A  suspicious  character,  and  one  that  the  s'lectmen  ought 
to  look  after.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Waal,"  answered  Hicky,  "he  hain't  trubbled  no  un 
thet  I've  heerd  on  yit." 

Miss  Martha  heard  of  the  old  man  many  times  after- 
wards, and  once,  guided  by  Denis  Lacrassin,  she  ventured 
up  to  the  hut  itself,  but  its  inmate  was  absent,  the  door  was 
securely  fastened  and  there  was  no  window;  so  she  was  obliged 
to  descend  without  satisfying  her  curiosity. 

The  time  flew  until  it  was  the  evening  of  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  December. 

It  was  Christmas  eve,  a  genuine  old-fashioned  Christmas 
eve,  such  as  we  read  about  in  story  books  but  seldom  ex- 
perience in  actual  life — a  night  which  in  its  wildness  and 


AUNT  MARTHA'S  ROMANCE.  193 

inclemency  makes  every  home  comfort  within  doors  seem 
more  pleasant  than  usual  and  makes  us  more  contented 
with  our  lot.  The  snow  had  been  falling  all  the  day  and 
gave  promise  of  continuing  to  fall  all  the  night,  and  the 
wind  had  been  having  high  sport  with  the  snow  flakes,  toss- 
ing them  about  in  every  direction.  Not  that  Miss  Martha 
cared  much  whether  it  snowed  or  not.  She  sat  in  the  cosy 
sitting  room  before  the  blazing  wood  fire,  with  her  pet  tabby- 
cat  curled  up  on  the  rug  at  her  feet  and  a  shaded  lamp  on 
the  center  table,  and  there  was  no  need  of  her  going  outside 
whatever  the  weather  might  be.  Her  hands  held  a  partly 
knitted  stocking,  but  the  needles  had  dropped  to  her  lap 
and  her  hands  were  idle.  Miss  Martha  was  thinking. 

As  she  sat  there  in  the  light  of  the  lamp  and  the  glow  of 
the  fire  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  Miss  Martha  had  ever 
been  personally  attractive.  It  seemed  utterly  absurd  to  as- 
sociate the  idea  of  romance  with  her  strong,  gaunt,  angular 
figure. 

Yet  in  the  past  years  that  had  been  romance  in  Miss 
Martha's  life — romance  and  sorrow — short-lived  joy  and 
long-lasting  grief.  There  had  been  eventful  years — years 
full  of  history — history  learned  by  heart  and  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

And  now,  as  Miss  Martha  sat  in  her  cosy  sitting  room 
gazing  abstractedly  into  the  fire,  her  heart  repeated  to  her 
the  history  of  those  by-gone  years.  But  they  were  no 
longer  years  of  the  past.  They  became  the  present.  She 
lived  them  over  again.  Every  curl  of  smoke  that  rose  up 
the  chimney,  every  glowing  coal  that  loosened  itself  from 
the  parent  log  and  dropped  into  the  ashes  underneath,  was 
the  symbol  of  the  passage  of  days  or  months  or  years. 

Ah,  many  such  reveries  are  witnessed  by  the  fires  that 
burn  upon  the  hearths  at  homes  !  The  child,  as  he  sits 
before  the  glowing  logs  dreaming  dreams  of  high  hope  and 
7 


194  THE  POMJFKET  MYSTERY. 

ambition,  builds  castles  huge  and  fair  among  the  glowing 
coals.  In  later  years,  when  age  has  crept  upon  him  and  hopes 
and  ambitions  are  dead  within  his  heart,  the  fitful  flames 
recall  those  aspirations  of  the  past,  and  in  the  ashes  he  sees 
the  crumbling  and  decaying  ruins  of  the  stately  castles  that 
he  built  so  long  before. 

So  as  Miss  Martha  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  cozy  sitting- 
room,  she  recalled  the  days  when  she  had  been  the  spoiled 
child  of  wealth — unschooled  in  self-restraint — proud  and 
petulant— haughty  and  cold — quick  to  take  offense — im- 
patient of  contradiction  and  reproof — liable  to  sudden  out- 
bursts of  passion  which,  while  they  lasted,  swept  all  before 
them.  She  sighed  as  she  thought  how  hard  and  unlovable 
her  nature  must  have  been  in  those  days,  before  long  years 
of  bitter  sorrow  and  regret  had  broken  her  pride  and  tamed 
her  passions. 

The  old  times  came  back  to  her  as  she  sat  watching  the 
flickering  flames.  The  familiar  sitting-room  was  changed 
by  the  magic  of  memory  into  the  narrow  parlor  of  a  city 
house,  and  she  saw  a  young  girl,  dressed  in  long,  flowing 
robes  of  creamy  white,  with  roses  at  her  breast  and  in  her 
hair,  standing  by  the  window  half  hidden  by  the  curtained 
drapery.  As  the  vision  rose  before  her  memory  Miss  Martha 
knew  that  she  saw  herself  as  she  had  appeared  long  years  ago. 

The  sappy  logs  hissed  with  the  heat,  the  flames  fell  and 
rose,  the  glowing  fragments  dropped  down  upon  the  hearth, 
grew  dull  and  turned  to  gray  ashes, — Miss  Martha  saw  them 
not.  She  was  watching  the  figure  of  the  girl  who  now, 
with  lips  slightly  parted,  and  with  a  smile  struggling  with  a 
frown  upon  her  face,  turned  from  the  window  as  a  familiar 
step  and  a  well-known  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall.  She 
had  been  kept  waiting  and  was  vexed  and  impatient.  But 
the  frown  faded  and  the  smile  made  her  face  radiant  with 
joy  as  a  young  man  entered.  With  a  cry  of  pleasure  she 


AUNT  MARTHA'S  ROMANCE.  195 

sprang  to  meet  him,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  had  folded 
her  in  his  warm,  close  embrace.  Then,  lightly  laughing, 
she  disengaged  herself,  and  readjusting  her  rumpled  dress 
said,  pouting  in  mock  anger  as  her  previous  vexation  was 
remembered,  "  How  late  you  are,  Geoffrey  ! " 

"  Am  I?"  he  responded,  smiling  upon  her.  "  It  seemed 
to  me  that  love  lent  me  wings  and  that  I  had  flown  to  you." 

"  But  you  are  here  now/'  she  said,  all  vestige  of  a  frown 
fading  from  her  face  before  the  sunlight  of  his  smile;  "  but 
see/'  and  she  pointed  to  a  rose  that  lay  upon  the  floor, 
"  you  have  broken  my  rose  ! " 

He  stooped  and  picked  it  up  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"Fair  rose/'  he  said,  "you  have  rested  upon  my  lady's 
bosom  and  I  shall  treasure  you  forever  hereafter  as  a  souve- 
nir ! " 

"  Foolish  fellow  ! "  she  responded,  with  a  peal  of  rippling 
laughter.  "  Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  that  ?" 

His  face  darkened  as  he  answered: 

"Martha,"  he  said,  in  reproachful  tones,  "how  many 
times  have  I  told  you  that  such  questions  reflected  on  my 
honor  !  Have  I  not  told  you — cannot  you  believe — that  I 
love  you  ?  " 

She  started,  vexed  more  at  the  tone  of  his  voice  than  at 
the  words  he  spoke.  Like  a  child  reproved  she  became 
angry. 

"  It  was  a  simple  question  that  I  asked  you,"  she  replied. 
"  I  wished  only  to  be  assured  that  it  was  myself  you  loved 
and  not  my  money." 

"  Oh,  your  money,  your  money  !"  he  cried,  with  a  ges- 
ture of  rage,  "  I  hate  it— I  hate  your  possession  of  it !  I 
know  I  am  poor,  but  is.  that  a  reason  why  you  should  be 
always  throwing  your  wealth  into  my  face  ?  " 

"  You  are  brutal ! "   she  answered,  coldly  and  haughtily. 

"It  is  you  who  are  brutal ! "  he  replied,  hotly. 


196  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

She  drew  a  ring  from  her  finger  and  coldly  handed  it  to 
him,  saying  as  she  did  so: 

"  You  have  given  me  proof  that  you  do  not  love  me  as  I 
would  be  loved.  No  man  would  speak  to  the  woman  he 
loved  as  you  have  spoken  to  me, — what  more  could  I  want 
than  the  evidence  of  your  own  words  ?  " 

"I  did  not  mean  them  I"  he  cried  passionately.  "Oh 
Martha,  if  you  were  only  poor,  that  I  might  prove  how  much 
I  loved  you  !  But  the  thought  of  your  wealth — the  dread 
that  you  should  think  me  a  fortune-hunter — maddens  me  ! " 

But  her  anger  was  aroused  and  her  hand  never  trembled 
as  she  held  out  the  ring  — his  bethrothal  gift  to  her. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  confronting  her,  his  eyes  gazing 
into  hers  with  a  look  of  supplication  and  pleading  that 
might  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone;  but  her  heart  was  only 
human  flesh  and  blood  and  she  showed  no  signs  of  relenting. 

Then  his  anger  rose. 

He  seized  the  glittering  bauble  from  her  outstretched 
hand  and  dashed  it  to  the  floor  exclaiming: 

"  Lie  there,  senseless  thing — as  cold  and  heartless  as  her 
to  whom  I  gave  you  as  a  token  of  undying  love  ! " 

She  flashed  back  a  glance  of  rage  and  scorn  at  him. 

"  Go  ! "  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door.     "  Go  ! " 

He  turned  and  Jeft  her,  but  in  the  doorway  he  stopped 
again  and  held  out  his  arms  imploringly  to  her,  crying: 

"  Oh  Martha  !  Martha  !  Before  it  is  too  late,  forgive  me  ! 
Forgive  me,  and  let  me  stay  ! " 

"  Go  ! "  she  said  sternly.  And  he,  turning  away  with  a 
gesture  of  despair,  left  the  house. 

He  never  returned. 

Miss  Martha,  in  her  revery,  remembered  how,  when  the 
hot  flush  of  her  senseless  anger  'passed,  she  watched  and 
waited  for  his  return;  how,  putting  her  false  pride  aside, 
she  had  sent  messengers  to  find  him  and  bring  him  back; 


ATJXT  MABTHA'S  KOMAKCE.  197 

and  how,  with  heart  that  was  almost  breaking,  she  had 
learned  that  he  had  disappeared,  no  one  knew  whither. 

Oh,  those  long  years  of  weary  watching  and  waiting,  when 
her  whole  heart  had  been  purified  in  the  crucible  of  sorrow 
— when  every  thing  associated  with  her  past  life  grew  hate- 
ful to  her.  She  had  traveled  far  and  wide,  hoping  to  find 
forgetfulness  in  change  of  scene,  and  with  some  faint  hope, 
it  may  have  been,  that  in  some  foreign  country  she  might  by 
chance  meet  with  some  traces  of  him.  The  wealth  that  had 
stood  between  them  had  faded  away  until  but  a  remnant 
was  left. 

Miss  Martha  sighed,  the  firelight  glistened  from  the 
teardrops  in  her  eyes,  and  her  pet  cat  rose  and  stretched 
himself  and  glanced  at  his  mistress  as  if  to  make  sure  that 
nothing  was  wrong,  then  coiled  himself  once  more  upon  the 
rug  and  slept  again. 

Suddenly,  as  it  were  like  an  awakening  from  sleep,  the 
past  fled  away  and  the  reality  of  the  present  forced  itself 
upon  Miss  Martha's  consciousness.  She  breathed  another 
sigh — a  sigh  of  regret — as  she  mechanically  picked  up  her 
needles  and  resumed  her  knitting. 

She  was  not  conscious  of  what  had  changed  the  current 
of  her  thoughts,  some  shriek  of  the  wind,  perhaps,  for  now 
it  seemed  to  be  howling  more  fiercely  than  ever  around  the 
house.  Intuitively  she  fell  to  Avondering  how  deep  the  snow 
was  outside — whether  it  still  continued  to  fall — and  whether 
Gustave  Lacrassin,the  man  of -all-work,  would  return  the  next 
morning  in  time  to  clear  a  path  to  the  barn  before  breakfast. 
The  visions  of  the  tragic  past  had  faded;  homely,  every-day 
thoughts  engrossed  her  mind,  and  the  fire  had  burned  low. 
She  stooped  and  laid  a  fresh  stick  of  wood  upon  the  and- 
irons, then  carefully  rolling  up  her  knitting  she  laid  it  on 
the  table  and  going  to  the  window  raised  the  shade  and 
looked  out.  The  night  was  very  dark,  but  in  the  lamplight 


198  THE  POMFBET  MYSTERY. 

that  streamed  from  the  window  panes,  Miss  Martha  could 
see  that  the  air  was  full  of  snowflakes  and  knew  that  the 
storm  still  continued.  She  raised  her  hand  to  pull  the 
shade  down  again,  when,  through  the  tumult  of  the  storm, 
she  heard  a  sound  that  caused  her  to  pause  and  listen — a 
sound  which  came  to  her  ears  like  the  cry  of  a  human  voice, 
yet  left  her  uncertain  whether  some  shriek  of  the  wind  had 
not  deceived  her  hearing. 

She  listened  patiently,  standing  motionless  so  that  no 
rustle  of  her  dress  might  blur  the  sound  when  it  came  again 
— she  waited,  listening,  until  it  was  repeated,  and  this  time 
she  heard  it  more  clearly.  There  was  no  mistaking  it  now, 
it  was  the  cry  of  some  one  outside  in  the  storm.  Nor  was 
it  a  shout  uttered  in  sport  or  ])l&j,  but  rather  the  cry  of  one 
in  trouble — an  earnest  despairing  cry. 

Miss  Martha  was  perplexed.  She  was  alone  in  the  house, 
for  as  it  was  Christmas  eve  she  had  allowed  her  help  to  go 
to  their  homes  upon  the  hillside,  for  though  Miss  Martha, 
being  a  stanch  Unitarian,  did  not  believe  in  such  celebra- 
tions, she  had  no  objection  to  others  enjoying  them  if  they 
wished.  But  somehow  the  cry  which  she  had  heard  carried 
to  her  mind  the  impression  that  the  wanderer,  whoever  he 
might  be,  needed  help,  and  she  could  not  allow  him  to 
remain  outside  in  the  storm  without  making  at  least  an 
effort  to  assist  him — yet  there  was  no  one  to  send,  for  she 
was  alone. 

She  listened  once  again,  and  once  again  the  cry  came 
ringing  through,  the  air,  sounding  above  the  shriek  and 
rumble  of  the  storm.  There  could  be  now  no  room  for 
doubt,  it  was  the  cry  of  a  man  in  trouble,  and  the  sound 
assumed  distinct  vocalization,  so  that  the  word  "  Help  ! " 
was  clearly  distinguishable. 

Yet,  for  a  few  minutes  more,  Miss  Martha  stood  irresolute 
before  the  window,  while  her  sensations  of  fear  and  realiza- 


AUNT  MAKTHA'S  ROMANCE.  199 

tion  of  her  loneliness  combatted  with  her  sense  of  Christian 
duty.  Then,  as  if  the  latter  had  been  victorious,  she  went 
into  the  adjoining  room,  slipped  off  the  low  slippers  she 
had  worn  and  encased  her  feet  in  the  big  rubber  boots  in 
which  she  was  accustomed  to  tramp  through  the  snow.  She 
tied  a  warm  quilted  hood  about  her  head,  threw  over  her 
shoulders  a  warm  thick  cloak,  and  going  into  the  kitchen 
lighted  the  lantern  that  hung  ready  for  use  upon  its  accus- 
tomed hook.  That  done  she  drew  on  her  long  mittens  of 
knitted  yarn  and  stood  arrayed  for  her  excursion. 

Her  actions  had  aroused  the  cat  upon  the  rug,  who  now 
rose  slowly  and  stretching  first  one  leg  and  then  the  other 
gravely  watched  his  mistress.  Miss  Martha  gave  a  glance 
of  regret  at  the  warm,  snug  sitting-room,  threw  a  few  more 
logs  of  wood  upon  the  fire  and  then  went  resolutely  out 
through  the  front  door. 

A  gust  of  wind  and  a  flurry  of  snow  greeted  her  as  she 
emerged  into  the  open  air,  but  simultaneously,  as  if  to  en- 
courage her  to  persevere,  came  again  the  cry,  twice  repeated, 
"Help!  Help!" 

Closing  the  door  behind  her,  Miss  Martha  plunged  bravely 
into  the  snow  and  plowed  through  the  drifts  until  she 
reached  the  road  side.  There  she  halted  for  a  few  minutes 
to  recover  her  breath  and  to  decide  what  direction  she  would 
take.  She  thought  of  going  to  Deacon  White's  and  rousing 
him,  since  he  was  her  nearest  neighbor,  and  intuitively  she 
glanced  in  the  direction  of  his  house;  but  she  saw  no  light 
glimmering  through  the  windows,  all  was  shrouded  in  dark- 
ness and  she  knew  by  those  signs  that  the  Deacon  and  all 
his  family  were  in  bed  and  that  it  would  consume  precious 
time  to  arouse  him  and  explain  what  was  wanted.  While  she 
thus  pondered  what  to  do,  happening  to  cast  down  her  eyes, 
she  noticed  a  movement  of  the  snow  at  her  feet;  and  start- 
ing back  in  trepidation  she  turned  the  lantern  upon  the 


200  THE    POMFRET    MYSTERY. 

spot  and  saw,  much  to  her  relief,  the  form  of  her  own  pet 
cat. 

"  Why,  Tabby  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  this  is  no  weather  for 
you  to  be  out  in  ! " 

In  answer,  as  it  were,  the  cat  arched  its  back  and  purred 
and  rubbed  itself  against  her  dress. 

Somehow  the  presence  of  this  familiar  animal,  although 
it  was  only  a  cat,  seemed  to  encourage  Miss  Martha  and  to 
take  away  that  terrible  sense  of  loneliness  which  had  op- 
pressed her.  She  stooped  down  to  pick  him  up,  but  he 
bounded  away  through  the  snow  and  was  lost  to  sight.  As 
Miss  Martha  raised  herself  erect  the  cry  came  again,  as  if  to 
direct  her,  from  down  the  hill. 

Miss  Martha  put  herself  in  motion  and  plunged  on,  keep- 
ing as  nearly  as  she  could  judge  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
The  night  was  very  dark,  the  lantern  shed  but  little  light 
around,  and  the  snow  had  drifted  over  the  fences  so  that 
there  were  no  landmarks  to  guide  her.  Oftentimes,  in  spite 
of  all  the  care  that  she  could  exercise,  she  found  herself  waist 
deep  in  the  snow,  and  knew  that  she  had  wandered  into 
the  ditch  by  the  roadside. 

The  snow  was  knee  deep  in  the  shallowest  places  and 
deeper  where  some  inequality  of  the  banks  on  either  side 
had  caused  it  to  accumulate.  It  was  hard  work  making 
her  way  through  it,  and  she  was  forced  many  times  to 
stop  and  rest  and  recover  breath.  The  wind  caught  her 
cloak  and  twisted  it  about  her,  impeding  her  movements, 
and  the  light  of  the  lantern  nickered  and  threatened  to  be 
blown  out. 

She  went  on  thus  for  perhaps  five  hundred  yards,  then 
stopped  and  raising  her  voice  cried  aloud,  "  Halloo  ! " 

A  faint  "  meow,"  coming  from  a  few  feet  in  front  of  her 
was  the  only  response.  Guided  by  that  she  struggled  a  few 
paces  forward  and  saw  by  the  lantern's  feeble  light  a  black 
figure  prostrate  in  the  snow  before  her. 


AUNT  MAKTHA'S  ROMANCE.  201 

Now  that  her  quest  was  at  an  end  she  was  puzzled  what 
to  do  next.  She  had  not  stopped  to  consider  'this  aspect 
of  the  case — somehow  she  had  assumed  that  when  once  she 
had  reached  the  wayfarer  everything  else  would  be  simpli- 
fied— but  now,  if  he  was  helpless  to  aid  himself,  as  he  ap- 
peared to  be,  what  should  she  do? 

She  bent  over  the  figure,  and  by  the  light  of  the  lantern 
examined  it.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  man — a  tramp  ap- 
parently— the  face  was  overgrown  with  a  thick  mass  of  hair, 
white  as  the  snow  which  half  shrouded  it,  and  this  almost 
hid  the  features  from  sight — the  form  was  wrapped  in  old 
and  ragged  clothes,  now  stiff  and  hard  from  the  snow  which 
encrusted  them. 

The  man  lived — she  saw  that  ley  his  breathing — but  he 
had  fallen  into  that  slumber  which  is  produced  by  exhaus- 
tion and  extreme  cold.  He  had  succumbed  to  that  over- 
mastering desire  for  sleep,  which  is  more  deadly  to  the 
traveler  in  winter  time  than  all  else. 

She  shook  him  by  the  arm,  crying,  "  Wake  up  !  Wake 
up,  man  !  You  will  die  if  you  don't  wake  up  ! " 

But  he  was  merely  momentarily  aroused,  and  only  mut- 
tered a  few  incoherent  words  and  then  sank  to  sleep  again, 
lying  at  her  feet  almost  as  senseless  and  motionless  as  a  log. 
Then  all  Miss  Martha's  fear  came  back  upon  her — all  that 
overpowering  dread  of  being  alone  in  the  night-time,  that 
sometimes  will  overtake  the  strongest.  She  felt  an  almost 
irresistible  desire  to  hasten  home  again.  She  actually  found 
herself  wishing  that  she  had  retired  to  rest  early  in  the 
evening  so  that  she  might  not  have  heard  the  cry  which 
had  induced  her  to  go  forth  into  the  storrn. 

But  these  thoughts  were  only  momentary.  Miss  Martha 
put  them  aside  almost  as  soon  as  her  brain  had  formed 
them,  and  turned  to  the  business  on  hand — the  rescue  of 
the  perishing  stranger.  She  raised  her  voice  and  screamed 


202  THE   POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

as  loud  as  she  could  and  stood  peering  into  the  darkness 
waiting  for"  an  answer.  The  roar  of  the  wind,  which,  to 
her  excited  imagination,  seemed  to  take  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ter, as  if  the  fiends  of  the  air  were  mocking  her,  was  her 
only  response.  Again  she  screamed — and  again.  Thrice 
— but  no  human  voice  replied.  She  must  rely  upon  herself 
and  not  upon  others,  and  she  alone,  unaided,  must  somehow 
get  the  man  to  her  house. 

Shakings,  repeated  over  and  over  again,  proved  unavail- 
ing to  rouse  him.  They  only  elicited  those  incoherent 
sounds  which  seemed  so  much  like  words  and  yet  conveyed 
no  sense  nor  meaning. 

At  last,  afraid  of  wasting  more  time,  Miss  Martha  bravely 
seized  the  prostrate  man  by  the  arm  and  began  to  drag  him 
up  the  hill. 

It  was  hard  work.  It  had  been  hard  going  down  the 
slope  of  the  road,  it  was  doubly  hard  reascending  and  drag- 
ging him  after.  The  keen  wind  was  now  in  her  face,  and 
the  sharp  particles  of  the  driving  snow  stung  and  bruised 
as  they  struck  her.  The  snow  seemed  to  cling  to  her  feet 
as  if  it  would  hold  her  fast  forever,  and  encumbered  as  she 
was  by  the  helpless  form  of  the  man,  her  progress  seemed 
almost  insensible.  The  wind  blew  under  her  cloak  and 
streamed  it  out  like  a  banner — the  snow  blinded  her — the 
lantern  nickered  so  that  at  times  its  light  was  almost  inap- 
preciable— every  few  steps  she  was  obliged  to  stop  and  get 
her  breath  again. 

To  her  dying  day  Miss  Martha  never  knew  how  she  ac- 
complished the  task.  Speaking  of  it  afterwards,  she  was 
wont  to  declare  that  of  the  period  between  the  time  when 
she  first  began  her  reascent  of  the  hill  to  the  time  when  she 
found  herself  and  her  burden  in  the  front  hall  of  her  own 
warm  house,  she  remembered  nothing  except  a  vague,  terri- 
ble horror  that  blotted  out  the  perception  of  the  reality. 


'MISS  MARTHA  BRAVELY  SEIZED  THE  PROSTRATE  MAN  BY  THE  ABM  AND  BEGAN  TO 

DRAG  HIM  UP  THE  HILL."  Page  203. 


204  THE  POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

When  she  had  reached  home  she  looked  at  the  clock  and 
found  that  two  hours  had  passed  since  she  had  set  forth 
upon  her  errand  of  mercy — only  two  hours — yet  they  had 
seemed  an  eternity  to  her. 

Utterly  worn  out,  Miss  Martha  sank  into  a  chair  in  her 
front  hall  and  stayed  there  until  her  strength  had  partly 
returned.  Then  she  dragged  the  still  unconscious  man  into 
her  sitting-room,  and  without  waiting  to  discard  her  wraps 
she  busied  herself  in  reviving  him. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  she  threw  an  armful  of  kindlings 
and  sticks  upon  it,  and  while  they  smoked  and  caught  and 
began  to  blaze  she  knelt  over  the  waif  whom  she  had  rescued 
and  began  to  unwrap  his  snow-soaked  garments  and  to  chafe 
his  hands  and  feet  as  vigorously  as  she  was  able. 

At  last  her  efforts  met  with  success  and  the  sufferer 
opened  his  eyes  and  gazed  around  him,  and  muttering 
a  faint  "  Where  am  I?"  strove  to  rise.  But  he  was  as  yet 
too  weak,  and  when  he  had  half  risen  he  fell  back  upon  the 
floor.  Still  Miss  Martha  felt  wonderfully  relieved  that  he 
had  ai  last  regained  consciousness. 

"You  are  safe/'  she  said  rising  to  her  feet.  "Stay 
quietly  where  you  are  until  I  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

While  the  water  boiled  Miss  Martha  busied  herself  in 
removing  her  own  damp  garments,  and  then  set  bread  and 
meat  and  butter  upon  a  plate,  rightly  judging  that  the  man 
had  been  overcome  as  much  by  the  want  of  food  as  by  ex- 
posure to  the  storm. 

lie  drank  eagerly  of  the  tea  she  gave  him,  and  ate  raven- 
ously of  the  food  she  set  before  him,  tearing  and  swallowing 
it  like  some  wild  animal  rather  than  like  a  human  being. 

The  meat  and  drink  and  the  warm  air  revived  him  so  that 
he  was  able  to  sit  up.  He  had  said  nothing  since  his  first 
brief  exclamation  upon  regaining  consciousness,  but  all  the 
while  his  eyes  had  followed  Miss  Martha's  form  as  she  moved 
about  the  room. 


AUHT  MARTHA'S  ROMANCE.  205 

Miss  Martha  helped  him  into  the  big  rocking  chair  before 
the  fire — her  own  particular  chair,  that  no  one  except  the 
minister  or  she  herself  had  sat  in  since  it  had  been  brought 
to  Pomfret — and  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  noticed  the  sad 
plight  of  the  sitting  room.  The  snow  which  had  been 
dragged  in  had  collected  in  puddles  of  melted  slush  upon 
her  nice  ingrain  carpet,  and  the  man's  cap  and  cloak  and 
torn  shoes  were  scattered  promiscuously  about.  Her  first 
care  was  to  sop  up  the  water,  and  her  second  to  tidy  the 
room  somewhat. 

Then  Miss  Martha  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  put 
aside  the  remnants  of  the  meal;  and  when  her  hands  could 
find  nothing  more  to  do  she  sat  by  the  kitchen  fire  and  fell 
to  wondering  what  next  would  happen. 

It  was  now  long  past  midnight — about  the  hour,  per- 
haps, that  the  angels,  centuries  ago,  were  telling  to  the 
shepherds  the  glad  tidings  of  "  Peace  upon  earth  and  good 
will  towards  men."  Somehow  Miss  Martha,  sitting  alone  in 
the  kitchen,  with  that  rough  unkempt  figure  in  the  next 
room,  found  inexpressible  comfort  in  the  thought  of  the 
Nativity. 

She  rose  cautiously  from  her  chair  and  looked  through 
the  half -opened  door  into  the  sitting-room.  He  was  asleep 
now — asleep  in  the  rocking-chair — and  oh,  strange  sight ! 
the  cat,  usually  so  chary  with  strangers,  had  leaped  into  his 
lap  and  was  curled  up  there  into  a  warm,  soft  ball,  upon 
which  one  of  his  thin  hands  rested.  Miss  Martha  was  won- 
derfully reassured  at  this,  for  who  that  has  pets  among  the 
brute  creation  does  not  grow  to  rely  upon  their  instincts. 

The  hours  went  slowly  by.  Miss  Martha  dared  not  go  to 
sleep;  weary  and  fatigued  as  she  was  she  felt  that  she  must 
keep  awake.  She  moved  her  chair  to  where  she  could  com- 
mand a  view  of  the  sleeping  figure  in  the  big  rocker. 

Slowly,  as  she  continued  to  watch  him,  there  grew  upon 


206  THE    POMFRET    MYSTERY. 

her  a  vague  faint  sense  of  recognition,  as  if  through  the 
fog  and  mist  of  years,  there  was  dawning  a  recollection  of 
some  one  long  forgotten. 

Miss  Martha  was  wide  awake  now — indeed  her  senses 
seemed  to  be  preternaturally  alert.  She  heard  the  ticking 
of  the  tall  clock  by  the  fire-place;  she  realized  that  the  noise 
of  the  storm  outside  was  growing  fainter,  sure  sign  that  the 
morning  would  soon  dawn;  she  even  heard  the  low  breath- 
ing of  the  man  slumbering  in  the  sitting-room.  She  heard 
and  recognized  all  these  sounds,  but  she  took  no  heed  of 
them.  All  her  faculties  seemed  to  be  engrossed  in  striving 
to  follow  out,  to  solve,  that  vague  sense  of  recognition 
which,  every  moment,  seemed  to  grow  more  sure  and  more 
distinct.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  like  an  over-mastering  wave 
sweeping  aside  all  the  barriers  of  memory,  the  knowledge 
came  upon  her,  and  with  a  cry  of  "  Geoffrey  ! "  she  started 
up  and  stood  in  the  doorway  with  her  arms  stretched  out 
towards  the  thin,  bent  figure  in  the  rocking-chair. 

"  Geoffrey  ! "  The  cry  echoed  through  the  house  and 
was  repeated  through  the  halls  and  in  the  rooms,  as  if  other 
voices  reiterated  and  prolonged  it.  It  scared  the  rats  in  the 
cellar  and  sent  them  scampering  to  their  retreats;  it  fright- 
ened the  mice  in  the  garret  and  drove  them  in  sudden  haste 
to  their  holes;  it  roused  the  man  sleeping  in  the  sitting- 
room  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  confronting  her. 

For  one  moment  they  stood  facing  each  other,  then  with 
a  moan  of  anguish,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  before  her. 

"  Forgive  me  !     Oh,  forgive  me  ! "  he  cried. 

Her  face  was  transfigured  as  she  bent  over  him  smiling, 
and  in  a  soft,  sweet  voice,  resonant  with  a  wonderful  glad- 
ness, said: 

"  You  were  forgiven  long  ago  !  Forgiven  long  ago, . 
Geoffrey ! » 

But  yet  he  did  not  dare  to  look  up  at  her,  but  knelt  at 
her  feet  and  said  in  trembling  tones: 


AUXT   JIARTHA'S   ROJtAXCE.  20? 

"  I  sinned  against  you,  but  oh,  forgive,  for  I  have  been 
punished  for  my  sin  !  Remorse  has  followed  me  everywhere 
— waking  or  sleeping  it  has  haunted  me.  Bitter  has  been 
my  punishment !  Oh,  pardon  me  !  Forgive  me  ! " 

Again  in  soft,  sweet  tones  she  said,  "  I  have  forgiven  you 
— long  ago." 

Still  he  heeded  not  her  words;  his  voice  rose  in  a  wailing 
cry  as  he  continued: 

"  I  have  seen  you  in  my  dreams,  sometimes  fair  and  beau- 
tiful as  the  day  when  I  left  you,  sometimes  stern  and  relent- 
less as  if  you  condemned  me  to  eternal  punishment.  The 
memory  of  you  haunted  me — I  could  not  forget !  And  so 
at  last  I  sought  you  out,  that  I  once  more  might  gaze  upon 
your  face.  I  built  a  cabin,  high  up  on  the  hillside,  from 
whence  I  could  watch  your  comings  and  your  goings.  The 
children  hooted  at  me  when  I  came  down  to  buy  bread  and 
called  me  '  witch/  and  twice  you  passed  within  a  rod  of  me, 
as  I,  like  some  wild  thing,  lay  hid  among  the  bushes  by  the 
side  of  your  path.  So  at  last  I  shunned  the  neighbors  and 
went  afar  off  to  purchase  my  scanty  supplies." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  overcome  by  weakness, 
but  quickly  rallying  resumed:  "  I  was  returning  from  such 
a  journey  when  the  storm  overtook  me.  I  struggled  on, 
growing  more  weak  and  weary  with  every  step  as  the  night 
fell.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  wind  shrieked  out  your 
name — that  the  driving  snow  assumed  your  image  and 
danced  around  me  in  a  wild  weird  dance,  as  if  mocking  me. 
Sleep  overpowered  me  and  I  knew  no  more  until  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  saw  you  bending  over  me.  Oh,  can  you  par- 
don me  !  Oh,  say  that  you  have  forgiven  me  ! " 

She  did  not  speak,  but  she  bent  over  and  kissed  him,  and 
as  he  felt  the  warm  caress  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  met  hers 
and  he  knew  that  he  was  forgiven. 

Then  he  fell  forward,  and  sobbing  like  a  child,  he  seized 
the  hem  of  her  gown  and  kissed  it  again  and  again. 


208  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

She  bent  down  and  raised  him,  but  he  started  away  from 
her  and  exclaimed  wildly:  "  I  am  not  fit  to  be  forgiven  ! 
Oh,  my  God,  why  taunt  me  thus  with  dreams  that  will  dis- 
solve with  my  awakening  ! " 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  full 
of  pity  and  tenderness,  "  Hear  me  !  Look  at  me,  Geoffrey  ! 
This  is  no  dream.  God  hath  given  us  again  to  each  other. 
It  is  His  Christmas  gift.  I  was  not  blameless — it  was  my 
pride  — my  senseless  anger — that  drove  you  away.  I  also 
must  beg  for  forgiveness." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  wide  open  eyes  and  parted  lips,  as 
if  his  soul  would  drink  in  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love  ! "  she  cried,  while  her  voice 
trembled  and  tears  glistened  in  her  eyes — "  Oh,  my  love,  my 
love  !  I  have  loved  you  through  all  these  long  years  of 
lonely  watching  and  weary  waiting  ! " 

A  look  of  ineffable  happiness  passed  over  his  face,  but 
the  joy  was  too  great  for  his  enfeebled  frame  to  bear  and 
he  sank  fainting  into  the  chair. 

She  hastened  to  administer  restoratives  and  when  he  had 
regained  consciousness,  she  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  big 
rocker  and  sat  by  his  side. 

The  hours  passed  while  he  gently  slumbered,  his  thin, 
wasted  hand  clasped  between  her  firmer,  stronger  ones; 
until  the  first  faint  flush  of  the  rising  sun  shone  in  at  the 
window  and  bade  them  rejoice  that  it  was  the  dawn  of 
Christmas  Day. 


CHARLOTTE.  209 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

CHARLOTTE. 

THAT  great  highway  of  commerce  in  the  City  of  New 
York  known  as  Broadway  is  continued  far  beyond  the  city 
limits  out  past  the  green  fields  and  wooded  hills  of  the 
valley  of  the  Hudson.  Where  the  tall  stone  and  iron  dwell- 
ings become  more  and  more  infrequent  it  loses  its  character 
of  a  city  street  and  becomes  the  highway  between  "New  York 
and  Albany — full  of  old  revolutionary  legends,  such  as  the 
capture  of  Andre  and  the  exploits  of  the  cow-boys,  and  in 
the  less  frequented  portions  still  linger  memories  of  the  old 
days  of  stage-coaches. 

By  the  side  of  this  road,  and  in  the  limits  of  Tarrytown, 
there  stands  an  inn.  From  time  immemorial  there  had  been 
a  house  of  entertainment  on  the  same  site.  Old  Dierck 
Van  Twiller  had  purchased  the  land  from  the  Patroon  for 
ten  golden  guilders  and  had  bought  the  title  and  goodwill 
of  the  Indians  for  two  bottles  of  gin  and  a  piece  of  red  cloth. 

He  had  hewn  down  the  trees  and  built  a  low  house  and 
hung  out  the  sign  of  an  inn  while  his  nearest  neighbor  was 
ten  miles  away.  But  other  settlers  soon  gathered  about  him, 
and  the  farm  and  the  river  provided  meanwhile  for  his 
modest  wants. 

The  house  he  built  was  burned  down  in  the  Revolution 
and  remained  in  ashes  until  peace  was  declared — then  his 
great-grandson,  coming  back  from  the  Continental  army, 
which  he  had  followed  from  place  to  place  as  a  sutler,  and 
possibly  as  a  fighting  man  also,  claimed  the  property,  built 
a  new  house  and  put  up  a  new  sign  where  the  old  one  used 


216  iHE   POM^RET  MYSTERY. 

to  swing.  It  was  here  that  the  stages  from  New  York  to 
Albany  stopped  for  supper  until  the  railroad  drove  them 
from  existence.  This  in  turn  grew  old  and  was  pulled 
down  and  the  present  structure  was  erected  in  its  place. 

Some  descendants  of  old  Van  Twiller  had  always  dispensed 
hospitality  within  it,  and  now  James  Patrick  Nierck — seven 
generations  in  descent  from  the  old  Dutchman — was  host  and 
master,  having  inherited  the  place  and  the  responsibilities 
from  his  mother  G-retchen. 

It  was  a  stormy  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  October. 
The  rain  had  been  falling  in  a  steady  deluge  all  the  after- 
noon and  everything  was  watersoaked.  The  trees  shook 
down  their  leaves  with  every  gust  of  cold,  damp  wind,  J;he 
road  grew  softer  and  softer  as  the  water  collected  in  the 
wheel  ruts  and  hollows,  the  fields  lay  bare  and  desolate,  and 
the  river  was  shrouded  in  the  curtain  of  falling  water. 

Inside  the  inn,  however,  all  was  cheerful,  bright  and 
comfortable,  for  this  was  the  first  evening  that  Gertrude 
Nierck  and  her  lately  born  baby  had  come  down  stairs,  and 
in  honor  of  the  event  the  young  husband  and  father  had 
built  a  fire  in  the  sitting  room.  In  the  ruddy  light  of 
this  the  young  couple  sat,  Gertrude,  with  her  hands  folded, 
gazing  listlessly  into  the  fire  and  James  Patrick  playing  with 
the  baby  who  lay  upon  his  lap. 

"  Ah,  it  is  pleasant  to  get  down  stairs  once  more,"  the 
wife  said.  "  Just  think — for  two  months  I  have  not  been 
in  this  room ! " 

"  If  it  has  seemed  long'to  you,  it  has  seemed  longer  to  me, 
dear,"  her  husband  replied. 

"  How  it  storms  ! "  she  continued,  as  a  fiercer  gust  shook 
the  building  and  drove  the  rain  against  the  window  panes. 
"  Hark!  was  not  that  a  carriage  stopping  at  the  door?" 

"  It  did  stop,  but  it  has  gone  on  now,"  he  answered  after 
listening  for  a  moment,  and  speaking  as  the  sound  of  wheels 
splashing  through  the  mud  and  water  died  away. 


CHARLOTTE.  211 

Soon  his  loving  glances  noticed  that  his  wife  once  or  twice 
started  and  glanced  at  the  baby  on  his  knee  as  if  something 
had  alarmed  her. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "    he  asked. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  child  crying.  What  a  night  for  an 
infant  to  be  out ! " 

"  You  heard  only  the  wind." 

"  ISTo! "  she  insisted.  "  Oh,  James,  do  go  and  see  if  any  one 
is  at  the  door!" 

He  laughed  as  he  answered,  "  The  door  is  open  and  Tim 
is  in  the  bar.  They  can  come  in  if  they  like." 

"  But  to  please  me,  James,  go  and  look  out." 

He  smiled  as  he  lazily  placed  the  baby  in  her  lap  and 
lingered  to  shake  its  tiny  foot.  She  heard  him  pass  through 
the  hall  and  heard  his  merry  voice  speaking  to  Tim  as  he 
paused  for  a  moment  at  the  bar  room.  Then  she  heard  the 
windows  rattle  as  he  opened  the  door  and  knew  that  he  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  Soon  he  returned  and  laid  a  basket  at 
her  feet,  as  he  did  so,  saying: 

"  You  were  right,  and  I  am  glad  I  went." 

She  looked  down  and  saw  lying  there  an  infant  wrapped 
in  a  coarse  plaid  shawl,  and  with  a  handkerchief  tied  over 
its  tiny  head  as  if  some  one  had  made  a  last,  vain  endeavor 
to  protect  it  from  the  storm. 

The  little  one  was  blue  with  the  cold,  and  set  up  a  faint 
wail  as  she  lifted  it  and  began  to  remove  the  wet  wrappings. 
It  was  a  little  girl  baby,  thin  and  weak,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  show  whence  she  had  come  nor  what  the  names  of 
her  parents  were.  Only  the  handkerchief  was  of  the  finest 
cambric  and  on  it  was  embroidered  the  name  "  Charlotte." 
She  was  clothed  and  fed  and  put  to  sleep  in  an  old  cradle. 

The  fate  of  the  little  baby  was  not  left  long  to  hang  in 
the  balance.  The  warm-hearted  young  couple  decided  to 
keep  her  until  they  heard  something  of  her  parents,  and  if 


212  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

they  heard  nothing  to  adopt  her.  Nothing  was  heard  and 
the  two  children  grew  up  as  if  brother  and  sister. 

Ten  years  passed  away  and  no  other  children  came  to 
gladden  the  parents'  hearts;  but  little  James  and  little 
Charlotte,  for  so  the  children  had  been  christened,  still  lived 
and  enjoyed  life  as  only  children  can,  and  made  the  place 
ring  with  their  merry  laughter.  Ten  years  had  made  a 
change  in  the  appearance  of  the  children,  James — a  baby  no 
longer — had  grown  up  into  a  tall,  sturdy  lad,  with  brown 
hair  and  eyes,  and  ruddy,  sunburnt  cheeks.  Charlotte — 
the  little  waif  and  stray — had  become  a  black-haired,  blue 
eyed,  white-skinned  little  maiden,  full  of  pranks  and  fun, 
and  ever  ready  to  lead  her  more  stolid  and  sober  playfellow 
into  all  the  mischief  that  her  busy  little  brain  could  devise. 

But  the  girl  had  one  gift  which  the  country  people  could 
delight  in,  even  if  they  did  not  know  its  full  value.  She 
sang,  with  a  voice  sweet  and  clear  as  a  bell,  all  sorts  of 
music — ballads  which  the  people  of  the  village  sang,  hymns 
which  she  heard  in  church,  scraps  of  melodies  which  itiner- 
ant organ-grinders  ground  out  from  their  wheezy  hand- 
organs.  The  gift  of  song  was  hers  by  nature;  she  had  but  to 
hear  a  song  once  and  she  would  remember  it,  clearing  it 
intuitively  from  all  the  false  notes  and  imperfections  which 
the  performer  or  the  instrument  had  given  to  it,  and  fitting 
the  words  of  some  old  poem  to  it. 

This  gift  of  hers  became  well  known  through  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  it  was  not  uncommon  for  the  neighbors  to  col- 
lect at  her  adopted  father's  and  persuade  her  to  sing  for 
them. 

One  summer  afternoon  she  was  swinging  in  a  hammock 
among  the  tall  lilac  bushes  in  the  garden.  The  hammock  hung 
from  the  branches  of  a  moss-grown  apple-tree,  whose  dark- 
green  foliage  shaded  it  from  the  sun,  and  the  lilac  bushes 
hid  it  from  the  sight  of  passers-by  on  the  highway.  A  quaint 


CHABLOTTE.  213 

and  curious  space  was  this  old  garden  attached  to  the  inn; 
for  some  reason  it  had  been  allowed  to  run  wild,  and  the 
box  bordering  the  beds  had  grown  wide  and  tall,  the  once 
graveled  paths  were  softly  carpeted  with  moss  and  weeds, 
the  rose  bushes,  the  blackberry  vines  and  the  lilacs  had  grown 
larger  and  more  tangled  every  year,  while  the  earth  beneath 
and  around  them  was  spangled  with  pansies,  heliotropes, 
and  such  other  flowers  as  sprang  up  year  after  year  from 
self-sown  seeds.  It  was  a  perfect  jungle,  through  which 
the  children  had  made  paths,  and  of  which  they,  the  hens 
and  the  birds,  were  the  only  denizens. 

Lying  here  in  the  hammock  one  summer  afternoon,  Char- 
lotte began  to  sing,  almost  unconscious  of  the  effort,  for  song 
came  to  her  as  spontaneously  as  it  did  to  the  birds.  Her 
clear,  pure  voice  soared  upwards  like  the  song  of  a  lark  at 
early  dawn,  and  caught  the  ear  of  the  occupant  of  a  carriage 
which  was  leisurely  rolling  along  the  road.  She  bid  her 
coachman  stop  and  she  listened  until  the  song  was  finished. 

The  listener  was  well  skilled  in  the  knowledge  of  music, 
and  had  listened  to  the  greatest  prima-donnas  of  Europe, 
for  though  she  made  her  home  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson 
she  had  spent  many  years  in  traveling  abroad,  but  it  seemed 
to  her  that  never  before  had  she  heard  so  pure  and  youth- 
ful a  voice.  She  detected  at  once  that  it  was  crude  and  un- 
cultivated, but  her  curiosity  was  strong  to  learn  the  singer's 
name. 

She  asked  her  coachman,  but  he  was  a  new  servant  and 
did  not  know.  No  one  Avas  in  sight  of  whom  she  could  ask, 
and  she  was  about  to  drive  on  when  she  caught  sight  of  a 
child's  face  framed  in  masses  of  dark  hair,  peeping  out  from 
the  parted  branches  of  the  bushes. 

She  called  to  her,  "  My  child,  will  you  come  here  for  a 
minute." 

The  bushes  parted  and  a  girl  stepped  out  to  the  carriage 


214  THE   TOMFKET   MYSTERY. 

side.  It  was  a  scene  for  a  painter — the  ten-year-old  child, 
with  bare  feet  and  short  gown,  and  sun-bonnet  hanging  on 
her  back  held  by  its  strings  round  her  neck,  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  glistening  carriage  and  the  glossy  horses  in 
their  rich  harness.  It  was  a  contrast  between  young,  h  ealthy 
poverty,  and  aged  decrepit  wealth.  The  sunbeams  that 
flickered  through  the  branches  overhead,  fell  alike  on  the 
white-haired  invalid  reclining  on  the  soft  seats  of  her  car- 
riage, and  upon  the  tangled  brown  curls  of  the  maiden 
standing  on  the  green  turf,  and  Avondering  why  she  had 
been  summoned. 

"Child,  can  you  tell  me  who  was  singing?"  asked  the 
invalid. 

"  I  was,  ma'am." 

"  You,  child!" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  Such  a  voice  and  so  young  !  What  is 
your  name,  child  ?  " 

"Charlotte  Nierck,  ma'am." 

"And  where  do  you  live,  child?" 

The  girl  raised  her  arm  and  pointed  to  the  inn.  "  There, 
ma'am." 

' '  And  can  you  come  and  sing  for  me  sometimes  at  my 
house  ?  Do  you  know  where  I  live. " 

"Yes,  ma'am,  up  yonder  in  a  big  stone  house.  I  can 
come  if  my  mother  will  let  me." 

"Will  you  ask  her?  Or  stay  !  I  will  ask  her  myself. 
Will  you  run  and  ask  her  to  step  to  the  door  for  a  mo- 
ment?" 

The  child  sped  on  her  errand,  and  the  carriage  turned 
back  to  the  inn. 

Mrs.  Merck's  consent  was  gained  without  demur,  and 
twice  a  week  Charlotte,  with  shoes  upon  her  feet,  her  brown 
.locks  carefully  brushed,  and  her  best  gown  and  hat,  went 


A   STJRAXGE    DISEASE.  21o 

to  the  big  house  and  sang  to  Mrs.  Mason.  Even  the  inar- 
tistic apparel  which  she  wore  could  not  hide  the  innate  re- 
finement and  grace  which  the  child  possessed,  and  Mrs. 
Mason  grew  more  and  more  interested  in  her,  and  this  in- 
terest was  not  lessened  when  she  heard  her  histor}r. 

Charlotte  did  not  go  alone  upon  these  visits,  for  little 
James,  dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  accompanied  her  and  sat 
on  the  steps  outside  while  she  sang.  And  when  the  sing- 
ing was  done  the  two  children  were  allowed  to  wander 
through  the  garden  with  Mrs.  Mason,  and  to  gather  all  the 
fruit  that  they  could  eat.  She  would  often  pluck  them  nose- 
gays to  take  home.  When  the  cold  days  came  and  the  big 
house  was  to  be  closed  for  the  winter,  Mrs.  Mason  sent  her 
protegee  to  school  in  Xew  York. 

This  was  the  first  parting  of  the  children,  and  this  was 
the  first  sorrow  which  shadowed  their  lives.  But  before 
they  parted,  he  to  remain  at  home,  she  to  go  to  the  great 
school,  they  promised  never,  never  to  forget  each  other  and 
never,  never  to  cease  to  love  one  another.  She  gave  to  him 
a  bright  red  woolen  scarf  which  had  often  kept  her  warm 
in  winter,  and  he  gave  to  her  his  chiefest  of  treasures — his 
pocket  knife. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A   STRANGE    DISEASE. 

IN  the  vacations  Charlotte  came  home  to  the  country  inn. 
There  was  no  place  like  it,  she  declared.  There  was  some- 
thing which  it  had  that  the  great  beautiful  city  could  not 
have,  something  that  the  rest  of  the  world  forever  lacked. 
Later,  when  she  grew  up,  she  knew  that  this  something  was 
the  old  associations  of  her  childhood,  the  old  memories  of 
her  home, 


216  THE  POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

The  children  changed  with  the  seasons  and  the  years. 
James  grew  taller  and  more  sturdy,  and  went  to  New  York 
to  be  an  office  boy  in  a  merchant's  office.  Charlotte  grew 
taller  and  more  sedate — the  lithe  little  girl  was  growing 
into  a  beautiful,  sensible  young  woman. 

The  girl's  musical  education  had  not  been  neglected. 
Mrs.  Mason  had  placed  her  under  the  instruction  of  the  best 
masters  that  the  city  could  afford,  and  now  that  she  had 
learned  all  that  they  could  teach  her  she  was  to  be  sent 
abroad  to  study  under  the  masters  of  Paris  and  Vienna. 
Mrs.  Mason  was  herself  to  go  with  her,  so  that  she  should 
not  be  unprotected.  Three  years  she  was  to  be  away,  then 
she  would  come  back. 

Three  years  !  A  long  while  to  look  forward  to,  a  long 
period,  perhaps,  while  they  are  being  lived,  but  ah,  short — 
too  short — when  one  looks  back  at  them.  But  Charlotte 
promised  to  write  each  month  long  letters,  telling  of  her 
journey  and  of  the  strange  scenes  she  saw,  and  the  queer 
people  that  she  met  in  foreign  lands.  And  who  knows,  she 
said,  but  what,  when  she  came  back,  she  could  earn  money 
by  her  singing,  and  in  time  become  great  and  famous. 

Youth  is  hopeful  and  Fame  is  something  pleasant  to  look 
forward  to  until  the  soul  has  been  chilled  by  disappoint- 
ment and  defeat. 

So  the  great  iron  steamer  bore  Charlotte  and  Mrs.  Mason 
across  the  ocean. 

Then  there  came  to  the  little  post-office  of  the  quiet  vil- 
lage of  Tarrytown,  letters  with  foreign  stamps  and  queer 
postmarks.  Letters  from  Charlotte  telling  of  their  jour- 
ney across  the  ocean,  and  the  queer  fellow-passengers  who 
had  sailed  with  them;  describing  the  scenes  they  visited, 
and  the  quaint  customs  of  the  places  where  they  stopped. 
Letters  telling  of  her  new  pursuits  and  occupations,  and 
containing  descriptions  of  her  masters  and  fellow-pupils, 


A   STRAXGE    DISEASE.  217 

and  accounts  of  how  she  progressed  in  her  singing.  And 
from  the  village,  other  answering  letters  were  sent  east- 
ward; letters  from  the  old  folks,  telling  of  the  little  inci- 
dents in  their  quiet,  humdrum  lives;  letters  from  James, 
telling  how  he  was  succeeding  in  his  business  career,  and 
had  become  the  confidential  clerk  of  his  employers. 

But  letters  are  at  the  best  unsatisfactory  things.  There 
is  always  something  hidden  by  them.  Soul  cannot  com- 
municate with  soul,  heart  cannot  blend  with  heart  through 
their  instrumentality,  nor  through  the  agency  of  stiff  and 
formal  phrases.  Hopes  and  fears  may  be  whispered  by 
friend  to  friend,  and  doubts  and  fears  may  be  imparted  in 
quiet  low  tones  at  dusky  eventide;  but  these  may  not  be 
coldly  written  out  in  black  and  white  nor  the  method  of 
their  telling  arranged  and  calculated. 

So  these  letters,  which  were  despatched  to  and  fro,  each 
hid  something  from  those  to  whom  they  were  sent.  Char- 
lotte's were  gay,  bright  and  chatty,  but  they  did  not  tell  of 
the  difficulties  and  trials  which  she  was  forced  to  surmount, 
and  the  letters  from  the  old  folks  at  home  hid  the  growing 
burdens  which  old  age  was  placing  upon  them,  and  their  in- 
creasing loneliness. 

The  three  years  lengthened  into  four,  and  the  four  years 
lengthened  into  five  and  six  and  seven,  and  yet  Charlotte  did 
not  return  to  America.  Mrs.  Mason  had  been  growing 
more  and  more  feeble  as  the  years  rolled  by,  and  Charlotte 
became  more  and  more  necessary  to  her  benefactress.  The 
idea  of  her  appearing  in  public  as  a  singer  had  been  post- 
poned, but  she  still  continued  to  study  and  perfect  herself  in 
her  art.  She  had  many  friends  abroad,  and  her  home  in 
America,  though  not  forgotten,  seemed  to  be  something 
vaguely  belonging  to  the  past — something  apart  and  sepa- 
rate from  her  present  life. 

Letters  still  continued  to  come  and  go.     But  those  from 


218  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

Charlotte  did  not  tell  of  the  hot  bitter  tears  that  of  late  had 
wet  her  pillow  at  night,  did  not  tell  of  the  growing  difficulty 
with  which  she  read  the  notes  of  her  music,  the  filmy  cloud 
which  seemed  ever  to  come  between  her  and  the  world,  the 
sharp  pain  that  shot  through  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  at  any 
bright  light,  the  terrible  dread  that  she  was  growing  blind. 
So  in  America  they  did  not  know  of  this  terrible  misfortune 
which  was  overhanging  the.  life  of  their  heart's  idol,  until 
one  day  there  came  a  letter  to  them  telling  the  sad  tale  of 
how  the  girl's  fears  had  come  true  and  the  dreaded  affliction 
had  fallen  upon  her  and  she  was  blind.  Not  altogether 
blind  as  yet — for  she  could  still  distinguish  light  from  dark- 
ness and  vaguely  discern  such  objects  as  were  large  and  close 
at  hand.  But  the  Parisian  doctors  dared  not  to  give  her 
hope  and  she  was  to  go  to  Vienna  to  consult  the  famous 
Baron  Von  Else  the  foremost  oculist  of  the  world. 

That  letter  brought  sadness  to  all  to  whom  it  was  sent. 
To  James  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  now  fulfill  his  duty  to 
his  adopted  sister  by  relinquishing  the  hope  of  his  life  by 
blotting  out  the  love  which  he  had  just  begun  to  realize  that 
he  felt  for  his  employer's  daughter;  to  the  old  people  it  was 
the  death*  knell  of  all  the  proud,  fond  hopes  with  which  they 
had  solaced  their  loneliness.  How  earnestly  they  expected 
another  letter  and  how  long  seemed  the  delay  before  it  came 
telling  how  Charlotte  had  seen  the  great  Vienna  specialist! 

Yes,  she  had  seen  him.  A  closed  carriage  had  brought 
her  to  his  door,  and  the  friendly  hand  of  her  kind  patroness 
had  guided  her  into  the  consultation  room.  He  had  listened 
to  the  symptoms  as  she  detailed  them,  calmly  at  first  but 
with  growing  interest,  and  he  had  looked  into  her  eyes  care- 
fully, indeed,  but  almost  with  eagerness.  Then  he  had 
asked  her  name.  "  Charlotte  Nierck  !  "  He  shook  his  head 
as  if  disappointed. 

"  Tell  me/'  he  said,  "  do  you  know  Madame  De  Castro?" 


A   STRANGE    DISEASE.  219 

She  shook  her  head  after  a  moment's  pause  and  answered, 
"No,  I  do  not  think  I  do." 

"  She  was  born  in  America.  Her  maiden  name  I  do  not 
know.  Her  husband  was  a  Spaniard." 

"  No,  I  do  not  know  her.  Tell  me  of  my  eyes.  Shall  I 
see  again?" 

"Ah,  that  we  shall  know  better  by  and  by;  but  Madame 
De  Castro  - 

"  What  of  Madame  De  Castro?  How  can  she  affect  my 
sight?" 

"  Mam'selle,  I  will  tell  you.  You  have  a  disease  of  the 
eye  which  is  very  rare — not  six  cases  are  reported  in  the 
books.  But  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  very  year  I  have 
seen  another.  Madame  De  Castro  had  the  same  disease — 
ah,  it  is  very  rare  !  But  it  is  not  that  which  makes  me  ask 
this  question,  but  it  is  because  this  disease  has  never  yet, 
that  we  know  of,  arisen  of  itself,  but  has  always  come  as  an 
inheritance  from  some  progenitor — ah,  I  will  not  believe 
that  you  have  not  some  ancestor  in  common." 

Good  Mrs.  Mason  had  listened  with  interest  to  the  Baron's 
explanation.  She  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  disclose  to 
him  the  mystery  that  hung  over  Charlotte's  parentage,  but 
she  had  a  desire  for  further  information.  So  she  said: 

"  But,  Baron,  some  one  must  have  had  this  disease  for 
the  first  time." 

"  Certainly,  Madame,  but  the  books  do  not  know  who  it 
was." 

"Why,  then,  should  it  not  originate  in  Charlotte?" 

"Ah,  Madame,  these  diseases  which  are  inherited  change 
their  character  with  succeeding  generations.  The  disease 
of  the  descendant  has  minute  but  perceptible  differences 
from  the  disease  of  the  ancestor,  so  that  from  the  symptoms 
of  the  disease  we  can  tell  to  what  generation  it  belongs. 
.But  Mam'selle  shows  the  same  symptoms  that  Madame  De 


220  THE  POMFRET  MYSTEKY. 

Castro  had — the  symptoms  of  the  same  generations  from 
some  common  ancestor/' 

"  Is  Madame  De  Castro,  then,  of  the  same  age  as  Char- 
lotte." 

"Ah,  no,  Madame  !  She  is  as  an  elderly  lady,  and  her 
hair  is  not  like  the  beautiful,  silken,  brown  hair  of  Mam'- 
selle,  but  it  is  as  white  as  the  driven  snow.  But,  Madame 
knows  that  people  may  be  of  the  same  generation,  though 
of  different  ages,  and  Madame  has  lived  an  out-of-door  life, 
so  that  the  disease  did  not  manifest  itself  so  quickly,  but 
Mam'selle  has  been  tasking  her  eyes  by  reading  music." 

"  This  Madame  De  Castro,"  Charlotte  interposed;  "  did 
she  see  again;*" 

"Ah,  she  can  see  now — one  hour  each  day — the  rest  of 
the  time  her  eyes  must  yet  remain  in  darkness.  But  she 
will  see  again  all  right — one  year  more  and  she  will  see  bet- 
ter than  she  ever  did." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  so  with  me?" 

"  Yes  !  We  must  have  one  little  operation  that  will  not 
be  very  painful,  and  then  a  long  siege  of  darkness,  and  at 
the  end  you  will  see  so  well  that  you  will  think  you  were 
blind  all  your  life  before." 

So  the  operation  was  performed,  and  Charlotte's  eyes  were 
bound  and  she  was  led  into  a  darkened  room,  and  was  to 
see  no  ray  of  light  for  two  long  months. 

During  these  months  Mrs.  Mason  was  not  idle.  She  saw 
Madame  De  Castro  and  scrutinized  her  carefully,  hoping  to 
find  some  resemblance  to  Charlotte,  for  she  had  the  hope 
that  this  disease  might  give  some  clue  to  Charlotte's  parent- 
age. But  they  were  totally  unlike  in  appearance,  and  Mrs. 
Mason's  hopes  fell  to  the  ground.  But  she  wrote  on  to 
America  and  had  a  full  account  of  the  finding  of  Charlotte 
prepared  and  verified  bj  James  Patrick  Ifierck  and  his 
wife, 


A  STRAJTGE   DISEASE.  221 

Charlotte  was  lonely  during  her  long  confinement  in  the 
darkened  room — indeed  how  could  it  be  otherwise.  Mrs. 
Mason  gave  her  four  hours  a  day,  and  Baron  Von  Else  spent 
an  hour  with  her,  but  had  she  not  been  permitted  to  use 
her  voice  she  would  have  fallen  ill  of  weariness. 

But  of  all  the  events  of  the  long  dark  hours  she  began  to 
look  forward  to  the  oculist's  visits  as  the  most  pleasant,  and 
when  he  had  gone  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  took  the  pleasure 
of  the  day  away  with  him.  She  did  not  for  a  moment  think 
of  loving  him.  She  had  pictured  him  in  her  mind  as  an 
elderly,  white-haired  man,  probably  with  a  wife  and  a  grown- 
up family.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  so  famous  a  man 
as  he  was  could  be  young — and  she  was  too  blind  to  see 
with  her  own  eyes  what  his  personal  appearance  was  like. 
Yet  Baron  Von  Else  was  scarcely  more  than  thirty  years  of 
age,  tall  and  handsome,  clever  and  renowned. 

But  with  Von  Else  himself  the  case  was  different.  He 
was  not  blind  to  the  beauty  of  this  young  girl  any  more  than 
he  was  deaf  to  the  charm  of  her  voice.  Yet  he  was  not  in 
love  with  her,  as  he  frankly  confessed  to  himself,  when 
sometimes  he  attempted  to  analyze  his  liking  for  her.  The 
sensation  he  was  experiencing  was  a  curious  blending  of  ad- 
miration for  her  personality  and  interest  in  her  disease,  but 
it  was  by  no  means  the  same  as  he  felt  for  Madame  De 
Castro. 

He  had  entered  into  the  lives  of  both  these  woman  in  the 
dual  capacity  of  friend  and  physician.  The  very  rare  dis- 
ease with  which  each  was  afflicted,  and  the  fact  that  he 
alone  had  the  skill  necessary  to  cure  it,  seemed  to  bind  all 
three  of  them  with  a  strong  tie.  The  very  doubt  which  ex- 
isted as  to  the  kinship  of  his  two  patients  added  interest  to 
their  cases,  and  though  he  never  believed  that  kinship  did 
not  exist,  yet  possibly  it  might  not,  and  if  so  then  it  would 
be  still  more  interesting  to  watch  a  case  of  individual  de- 


222  THE   POMFRET  MYSTERY. 

velopment  of  the  disease.  Then,  too,  he  was  not  inappi'e- 
ciative  of  the  romance  of  the  possibility  that  some  blood  con- 
nection might  be  established  through  the  simultaneous  de- 
velopment of  the  disease. 

The  time1  drew  near  when  Charlotte  was  to  be  permitted 
to  spend  half  an  hour  in  the  light  of  day — not  the  full  blaze 
of  the  noonday  sun,  but  the  mellowed  twilight  of  a  room 
when  the  shades  are  drawn.  A  pleasant  little  reception 
had  been  arranged  for  her,  and  she  looked  forward  with 
pleasurable  anticipation  to  seeing  the  faces  of  the  friends 
whose  voices  she  had  come  to  know  so  well  during  her  im- 
prisonment. The  day  came  at  last,  and  she  heard  with  joy 
the  well-known  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs,  and  she  knew 
that  in  a  few  minutes  Baron  Von  Else  would  remove  the 
bandage  from  her  eyes.  He  greeted  her  kindly  as  he  en- 
tered and  did  not  keep  her  long  in  suspense,  but  stepping 
to  her  side,  relieved  her  of  the  bandage,  and  she  saw. 

She  turned  to  thank  him,  but  started  back  in  astonish- 
ment, for  she  could  not  believe  that  this  strong,  young  man 
was  the  oculist. 

He  laughed  as  he  saw  her  amazement,  "Confess  now, 
mam'selle,"  he  said  in  his  merry,  lighted-hearted  tones, 
"  confess  that  you  mistook  me  for  an  elderly,  white-haired 
old  man." 

His  merriment  was  infectious  and  she  too  laughed  as  she 
replied:  "  Yes,  that  is  true,  but  all  the  same  I  thank  you 
for  having  cured  me." 

"Ah,  you  will  have  many  more  hours  of  darkness  before 
you  are  cured,"  he  responded.  "  Kemember,  that  you  have 
now  only  half  an  hour  of  sunlight.  Ah!" 

This  last  exclamation  was  elicited  by  the  action  of  Madame 
De  Castro,  who  had  risen  from  her  seat  and  was  now  stand- 
ing staring  at  Charlotte,  with  arms  upstretched  as  if 
warding  off  a  blow. 


"STEPPING  TO  HER  SIDE,  HE  BELIEVED  HEK  OP  THE  BANDAGE,  AND  SHE  SAW." 

Page  222. 


224  THE  POSIFRET  3IYSTERY. 

"Has  tli e  dead  risen?"  she  exclaimed  in  tremulous  ac- 
cents. "  Has  the  grave  given  up  the  youth  and  beauty 
which  it  once  claimed  as  its  own  ?  " 

She  tottered  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  the  doctor 
rushed  to  her  assistance  and  placed  her  on  the  sofa,  while 
Charlotte  knelt  by  her  side  and  exclaimed: 

"  It  is  no  ghost,  dear  Madame  De  Castro.  It  is  I — Char- 
lotte Nierck — surely  you  know  me  ! " 

"  I  have  done  you  no  wrong,"  again  cried  the  shuddering 
woman; ' '  why  do  you  rise  after  so  many  years  to  haunt  me  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you/'  said  the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Mason, 
when  Madame  De  Castro  was  slowly  recovering  under  Char- 
lotte's assiduous  attentions — "  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  there 
was  some  relationship  between  them." 

"  There  is  a  mystery,"  Mrs.  Mason  replied.  "  God  grant 
that  it  be  solved." 

Madame  De  Castro  soon  recovered  her  composure  and  sit- 
ting up  said  to  Charlotte: 

" Tell  me,  my  child,  who  were  your  parents?" 

"Alas,  Madame,"  Charlotte  answered,  "I  do  not  know. 
Kind  people  adopted  me  when  I  was  very  young." 

"When?" 

"  Some  thirty  years  ago." 

"  I  have  all  the  details,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  and  leaving 
the  room  for  a  few  minutes  she  returned  with  the  statement 
of  the  Niercks  in  her  hand. 

"  I  must  think  !  I  must  think  ! "  Madame  De  Castro  said. 
"  I  have  thought — but  I  cannot  tell  what.  I  must  be 
alone  and  think." 

"  It  is  well,"  the  oculist  said,  stepping  forward:  "  This 
agitation  is  not  beneficial  for  either  of  you.  Mam'selle,  I 
will  now  replace  your  bandage.  Madame,  I  shall  be  happy 
to  escort  you  to  your  carriage.  To-morrow  at  this  hour  we 
will  all  meet  here  again." 


SKEINS   UNTANGLED.  225 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SKEINS   UNTANGLED. 

WHEN  Madame  De  Castro  was  able  to  meet  Charlotte  once 
more  she  told  the  following  history  of  her  life. 

"  I  shall  have  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  a  part  of  my  own 
history  which  I  have  heretofore  hidden  from  all  the  world. 
I  would  hide  it  now  from  you  if  I  could,  but  by  telling  it  I 
can  repair  a  great  wrong  done  to  Charlotte  when  she  was 
an  infant— a  wrong  which  I  had  no  part  in  and  did  not 
know  of  until  after  it  had  been  committed/' 

Her  listeners  pledged  themselves  to  secresy,  and  she  con- 
tinued: 

"  I  was  born  a  slave.  My  mother  was  a  quadroon  girl, 
nearly  white,  in  the  family  named  Vance  in  Louisiana. 
Even  now  I  can  remember  her  as  a  very  handsome  woman. 
I  have  every  reason  to  think  that  her  master  was  my  father, 
though  I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  my  mother  never  men- 
tioned the  subject  to  me.  I  lived  on  the  plantation  until 
I  was  seventeen  years  old,  as  the  maid  of  a  granddaughter 
of  old  Mr.  Vance,  and  of  my  early  days  I  have  little  recol- 
lection except  that  they  were  far  pleasanter  than  fell  to  the 
lot  of  most  slave  children,  and  that  my  young  mistress  was 
kind  and  considerate. 

"  When  I  was  sixteen  years  old  I  was  engaged  to  a  young 
house-servant — a  slave  like  myself— and  we  were  to  be  mar- 
ried in  the  next  year.  But  before  the  time  came  my  mis- 
tress's brother  arrived  at  the  plantation  and  all  my  life  was 
changed.  He  was  only  a  few  years  older  than  my  mistress, 
and  as  I  was  a  pretty  girl,  he  took  a  fancy  to  me.  I  liked 
him  well  enough,  but  I  encouraged  him  so  as  to  make  my 


226  THE    POMFEET    MYSTERY. 

lover  jealous  and  to  give  myself  importance  in  the  eyes  of 
the  other  slaves.  So  when  my  young  master  bid  me  meet 
him  in  the  shubbery  about  the  house  one  night,  I  consented, 
meaning  no  harm,  and  foolishly  I  told  my  lover  of  the  ap- 
pointment. He  was  violent  and  insisted  that  I  should  not 
go,  but  I  was  delighted  at  hi?  jealousy  and  I  went.  He  fol- 
lowed me,  and  when  my  young  master  met  me  he  came  up 
and  begged  him  to  send  me  home.  But  my  master  would 
not,  and  only  ordered  him  away,  and  when  he  did  not  go 
struck  him  with  his  cane. 

"  Then  Sunbeam — that  was  my  lover's  name,  struck  him 
back,  and  I  screamed,  and  the  servants  and  the  overseer 
and  old  Mr.  Vance  came  running  to  the  spot.  They  took 
poor  Sunbeam  and  whipped  him  until  he  fainted,  and  they 
took  me — although  I  declare  I  was  guiltless  of  all  intention 
to  do  harm — they  took  me  and  locked  me  up  in  a  sort  of 
prison  for  refractory  negroes,  and  the  next  day  I  heard  that 
we  were  both  to  be  sold. 

"  But  that  night  Sunbeam  came  to  my  prison  and  let  me 
out  and  together  we  ran  away.  We  reached  the  river  at  a 
place  where  Sunbeam  knew  there  was  a  boat  hidden,  and  we 
crossed  on  that  and  traveled  on  all  night  until  day  broke. 
Then  we  hid  in  the  cane-brake  until  it  was  night  again, 
guiding  ourselves  by  the  stars.  How  long  we  were  journey- 
ing in  this  way  I  cannot  remember.  We  had  brought  a 
little  food  with  us,  and  that  lasted  us  for  the  first  two  or 
three  days,  after  that  was  gone  we  lived  on  what  we  could 
find  in  the  swamps  and  streams.  So  we  journeyed  on,  always 
traveling  by  night  and  hiding  by  day,  until  we  knew  by  the 
language  of  those  who  passed  our  hiding  place  by  the  road- 
side that  we  were  in  a  land  where  English  was  not  spoken, 
and  we  supposed  that  we  had  reached  Mexico,  which  had 
been  our  destination  when  we  set  out. 

"  We  were  still  near  the  frontier  line,  however,  and  we 


SKELN'S   UNTANGLED.  227 

did  not  dare  to  show  ourselves,  lest  we  should  be  captured 
and  sent  back,  and  so  we  continued  to  go  southward  by  night 
until  we  were  a  long  way  from  home,  and  thought  that  we 
might  show  ourselves. 

"  We  could  not  make  the  people  understand  what  we 
said,  but  at  last  by  signs  we  got  them  to  know  that  we 
wanted  work,  and  at  last  Sunbeam  got  some  work  to  do 
among  the  horses,  and  I  was  given  some  work  in  the  house. 
"We  got  no  pay  for  what  we  did,  but  we  learned  to  speak 
the  language. 

"  We  stayed  there  until  the  war  with  the  revolted  prov- 
inces and  with  Texas  broke  out,  and  that  threw  everything 
into  confusion  and  there  was  no  more  work  for  us  to  do. 

"  The  workmen  all  about  us  formed  a  troop  of  cavalry  and 
elected  Sunbeam  their  commander.  Way  up  among  the 
mountains  there  was  a  deserted  house.  The  paths  leading 
to  it  were  known  only  to  a  few  herdsmen,  and  that  they 
made  their  rendezvous,  and  there  I  and  the  other  women 
stayed  while  they  went  off  on  their  journeys. 

"  Ah,  me!  I  fear  that  they  were  little  better  than  rob- 
bers and  murderers,  for  they  often  brought  booty  that  they 
could  not  have  honestly  come  by,  and  if  they  brought  back 
prisoners  it  was  only  to  hold  them  for  ransom.  But  I 
knew  that  Sunbeam  was  getting  rich  all  the  while,  and  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  our  being  recaptured  as 
slaves,  so  I  did  not  mind  much.  Ah,  no  one  who  has  not 
been  a  slave  can  know  the  pleasure  of  being  free  ! 

"  It  was  in  the  time  afterwards  that  my  husband — 
still  burning  for  revenge  for  his  whipping — left  me  for  a 
long  while  on  a  scheme  of  vengeance — I  did  not  know  what 
it  was  until  long  afterwards — even  if  I  had  known  of  it  then 
perhaps  I  should  not  have  been  able  to  prevent  it — but  I 
should  have  tried — ah,  yes,  I  should  have  tried.  Somehow 
he  had  learned  that  his  old  master  Laurie  had  been  married 
and  that  a  daughter  had  been  born  to  him. 


228  THE    POMFRET   MYSTERY. 

"  It  was  on  the  night  before  his  death  that  Sunheam  con- 
fessed all  this  to  me — when  he  was  about  to  start  upon  a  new 
expedition — somehow  he  had  a  presentiment  that  he  would 
never  return,  and  so  he  put  all  his  money  and  the  spoils  of 
his  raids  into  my  hands  for  safe  keeping  and  told  me  what 
before  he  had  kept  secret. 

"  He  had  gone  back  to  New  Orleans,  and  watching  his 
chance  had  stolen  Laurie  Vance's  daughter,  and  then,  not 
daring  to  bring  her  to  me,  not  knowing  what  I  could  do 
with  her — thinking,  I  hope,  that  I  might  send  her  back — 
and  then  he  had  taken  her  to  New  York  to  leave  her  there 
— he  said,  with  good  people. 

"  It  was  after  he  came  back  that  the  United  States  troops 
invaded  Mexico,  and  then  he  was  very  busy.  I  had  grown 
used  to  my  life,  and  when  I  was  discontented  I  had  only  to 
think  that  I  was  free,  and  that  would  bring  content  back 


"  I  need  not  tell  what  deeds  of  blood  and  shame  I  wit- 
nessed in  our  retreat  among  the  mountains.  I  grew  so  ac- 
customed to  them  that  I  did  not  mind  them  much,  until  one 
day  the  troops  brought  home  a  prisoner — a  United  States 
officer — and  when  taken  from  his  horse  and  put  into  the 
hut  that  served  us  as  a  prison  I  recognized  him,  and  knew 
that  he  was  Laurence  Vance. 

"  I  could  do  nothing  for  him  then,  but  I  kept  my  knowl- 
edge of  him  to  myself  and  waited  patiently  until  I  should 
see  a  chance  to  help  him.  I  did  not  have  to  wait  long. 
Sunbeam  bought  him  from  the  troop  when  his  ransom  had 
been  fixed — bought  him,  who  had  been  his  master,  as  a  slave. 

"  I  know  not  what  scheme  of  vengeance  Sunbeam  had  in 
his  own  mind,  but  after  this  purchase  the  troop  left  the 
prison  unguarded  and  I  could  get  access  to  the  prisoner. 

"  I  knew  that  I  had  no  time  to  lose  if  I  would  rescue 
him,  and  so  the  next  night  —the  night  after  his  purchase — 


SKEINS   UNTANGLED.  229 

I  stole  to  the  prison  and  unbarred  the  door.  I  had  horses 
ready,  and  Laurie,  mounted  on  one  of  them,  fled  in  safety 
to  the  United  States  camp. 

"  When  Sunbeam  learned  the  next  morning  that  his  pris- 
oner had  escaped,  he  was  furious;  and  it  was  then,  while  the 
troop  were  getting  ready  to  pursue,  that  he  told  me  who 
his  prisoner  was,  and  how  his  daughter  had  been  stolen. 

"  It  was  three  days  afterwards  that  a  few  of  the  troop 
rode  back  and  told  me  how  they  had  been  surprised  by  the 
United  States  cavalry,  and  how  Sunbeam  was  dead,  but  it 
was  not  until  long  years  afterwards  that  I  learned  that  Lau- 
rence Vance  had  died  also. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  stay  in  Mexico  after  that,  but  it  was 
not  until  after  peace  had  been  declared  that  I  was  able  to 
leave.  Then  I  came  to  Paris,  and  the  money  and  property 
which  I  had  enabled  me  to  live  in  comfort. 

"  I  did  not  dare  to  go  back  to  the  United  States,  but  I 
sent  over  to  agents  and  they  made  every  effort  to  trace  the 
child  that  had  been  stolen,  but  no  one  could  find  her.  I 
received  back  from  America  news  about  the  Vances,  and 
learned  that  old  Mr.  Vance  was  dead — had  been  blind  be- 
fore he  died. 

"  Then  in  Paris  I  met  Seflor  De  Castro  and  married  him. 
He  was  an  old  man  and  rich,  and  he  died  shortly  afterwards, 
leaving  all  his  money  to  me.  I  have  lived  in  Europe  all  my 
life  since,  though  they  tell  me  that  it  would  be  safe  for  any 
one  now  to  go  to  the  United  States. 

"All  the  Vances  have  strong  family  likenesses,  and  when 
I  met  Mr.  Thomas  Vance  and  his  son  years  ago  in  France  I 
knew  who  he  was  as  soon  as  I  first  looked  at  him.  But  I 
did  not  make  myself  known  to  him.  How  could  I,  when  I 
did  not  wish  any  one  to  know  that  I  had  been  a  slave. 

"  Then,  when  I  came  here  to  consult  Baron  Von  Else 
about  my  eyes,  and  he  told  me  that  my  disease  was  an  in- 


230  THE  POMFKET  MYSTERY. 

herited  one,  I  remembered  the  story  that  old  Mr.  Vance 
had  been  my  father,  and  I  told  the  doctor  that  he  was  right, 
that  I  had  inherited  the  disease  from  my  father. 

"  I  had  not  heard  anything  from  America  for  a  long  while 
until  within  a  year  or  two,  when  I  was  told  that  a  rich  Mrs. 
Vance  was  making  inquiries  about  the  family  and  had  adver- 
tised for  information  about  the  lost  child.  I  wanted  to  write 
to  her,  but  I  could  not  without  disclosing  my  history,  and 
that  I  could  not  do. 

"  But  when  I  saw  you,  Mam'selle  Nierck,  I  knew  that  you 
were  a  Vance.  You  were  the  exact  image  of  my  young 
mistress  when  she  was  younger  than  you." 

The  ladies  were  all  in  tears  before  Madame  De  Castro  had 
completed  her  disclosure,  and  the  doctor  alone  had  dry  eyes. 

"It  is  so,  then  ! "  he  cried.  "  You  did  indeed  inherit 
the  disease  from  the  same  person.  I  knew  it  must  be  so  ! 
I  knew  it !  I  knew  it !  Madame's  father  had  the  same 
trouble,  she  inherited  it  from  him.  He  was  your  grandfather, 
and  you  also  inherited  it  from  him.  There  can  be  no  de- 
ception in  Nature  if  only  we  read  her  aright,  and  I  knew 
that  it  must  be  so." 

" I  cannot  understand  it ! "  Charlotte  said.  "It  is  so 
strange  to  have  the  whole  past  so  suddenly  disclosed  to  me." 

"  Will  you  take  this  seat  by  me,  child,  and  let  me  tell 
you  more  about  your  family  ?  You  have  a  brother  living 
yet,  perhaps  somewhere  in  America — unless  indeed  the  Mrs. 
Vance  should  be  his  widow  and  he  be  dead." 

Then,  while  Charlotte  took  her  seat  by  the  side  of  Madame 
De  Castro  and  she  poured  into  willing  ears  all  that  she  re- 
membered or  had  learned  about  the  Vances,  Mrs.  Mason 
and  Baron  Von  Else  carried  on  a  low  conversation  at  an- 
other end  of  the  room. 


THE    END. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    END. 

IT  would  be  tedious  to  detail  all  the  various  steps  that 
were  taken  by  Charlotte  and  her  friends  to  communicate 
with  Ethel.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  their  letters  went  first  to 
America  and  thence  followed  her  across  the  ocean. 

They  found  her  in  Paris,  and  it  was  several  days  before 
she  could  learn  the  present  location  of  Charlotte.  At  last, 
however,  she  was  put  in  possession  of  all  the  facts,  and  she 
in  turn  had  told  all  of  her  own  story  which  she  cared  to  tell 
— disclosing  just  enough  that  they  might  perceive  the  justice 
of  her  intentions. 

Nothing  remained,  therefore,  but  to  hand  over  to  Char- 
lotte the  fortune  which  remained. 

Before  she  had  left  America,  Ethel  had  posted  herself  as 
to  the  law  on  this  subject.  The  fortune  was  her  own.  The 
law  gave  it  to  her  absolutely  and  she  had  the  right  to  give 
it  to  anyone  she  chose.  There  was  no  need  of  going  to  law 
about  it — no  need  of  asking  the  intervention  of  the  lawyers 
— she  could  and  she  did  give  it  all  to  Charlotte. 

Need  it  be  said  what  Charlotte  did  with  her  money? 
James  Patrick  Merck  and  his  wife  were  provided  for.  Lit- 
tle James,  as  she  still  called  him,  though  he  was  a  stalwart 
man  now,  received  capital  enough  to  make  him  full  partner 
in  the  house  where  he  had  so  long  been  a  clerk.  As  for 
Charlotte  herself,  she  revisited  the  scenes  of  her  family,  and 
when  Mrs.  Mason's  death  left  her  again  alone  in  the  world, 
she  went  to  Pomfret  to  live  with  Ethel. 

And  there  Benny  Moore  saw  her — saw  her  and  loved  her 


232  THE    POMFRET    MYSTERY. 

— not  as  he  had  loved  Ethel  in  the  old  days,  for  a  true  man 
never  loves  twice  with  the  fervor  of  his  first  love — but  loved 
her  deeply  and  truly;  and  when  she  returned  his  love,  and 
married  him,  he  gave  up  the  practice  of  the  law  and  retired 
to  the  farm  at  Pomf ret. 

In  the  old  house  next  to  the  Pomfret  Bank  Ethel  still 
lives,  a  white-haired  woman,  aged  before  her  time.  Her 
face  bears  the  marks  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  but  her  smile 
is  like  the  smile  of  an  angel  and  the  expression  of  her  face 
is  peace.  To  her  go  all  those  in  trouble,  in  sorrow  or  in 
distress,  and  she  is  ever  busy  with  good  deeds,  and  a  deep 
calm  has  followed  the  storms  and  tempests  of  her  life. 

Out  at  the  Woodside  farm,  Benny  Moore  still  lives,  a  grave, 
silent  man.  His  wife  and  merry  children  cast  the  broad, 
mellow  sunshine  of  happiness  about  his  life. 

But  the  merriest  times  that  the  merry  children  have,  are 
when  they  are  grouped  around  the  fire  on  a  winter's  night, 
listening  to  some  cherished  tale  told  by  "Aunt  Ethel." 


